A cold north wind blows through the curtains of the bedroom. I pull the duvet quilt up a little tighter around my shoulders and wiggle back into my warm cocoon. Visions of red-legged mallards with their wings cupped and their feet dangling down fly through my dreams. As they begin their final descent into the decoys, my hunting partner John and I both switch off the safety mechanism on our shotguns. One low mallard whistle on the call, and they commit to the spread.