Earlier this season two of us hunted a cut cornfield full of doves. There was a strip of standing corn four rows wide running the length of the field along the crest of a hill. We watched it for a few minutes and could see doves diving into a short gap in the strip, which, we decided, was where we needed to hunt. We hiked up the hill and set up, me looking west, Rick looking east, each of us guarding a spinner. It soon became apparent that while I had a little shooting at birds that got past Rick, he was on the X, and his shots came at doves sliding in for a landing. I stuck it out on my side of the row until I couldn't stand it any longer, then took my decoy and seat over to his side. "You are having way too much fun over here by yourself," I told him. "Move over." We took turns shooting and each had our limits in about an hour. Almost every dove we shot was coming in to the decoys. At one point, three came in for a landing and we got all three, warming my waterfowler's heart.