There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago

This morning when Beth went outside with the kids to bury Sugar, she found that one of our chickens, Feather, had been killed, probably by a raccoon. Feather had been in the habit of roosting up in the apple tree unlike the others who go inside the coop at night.
Colm looked at Feather and the grave I'd dug for Sugar and he said to Beth, "Mommy, why do our animals keep dying?"
K