He supped the last of his coffee, and actually threw his tin mug clear across the porch, uncharacteristically losing his temper. "Goddamnit Leo." He shook his head. "This place is spookin' me now. Late last night, Digger got to clamourin' like a banshee. We couldn't find any wrong at the time, but my dreams were full of scritchin' and scratchin', an' this mornin'. Shit Leo. This mornin' whatever it was. Got to the chucks. The rooster, two of the best layers, an' six ten-day-olds, all dead, beaks ripped open, and puncture wounds on 'em, the likes I've never seen before. Ginger's in a right state. Beat herself, an' the stall right up. She's thrown a shoe, and she's all scratched up somethin' fierce. I. God. She's had a bad turn of it recently. I don't know whether she'll be fit to ride after this."