When Michael came back from cooking we informed the boys that we were doing something special for dinner after the carol sing. We swore them to secrecy, of course, though I was relying less on their discretion than on the fact that they wouldn’t be out of our sight until we took off for the apartment. And if they did babble about the “something special,” I planned to say that we were going to take them driving around to see Christmas lights until they dozed off in their car seats.

Around three we all bundled up to go back into town for the live Nativity.

Randall had arranged for a crew to deliver dozens of hay bales to the newly shoveled town square and arrange them in loose rows facing the Methodist church, which was slightly elevated above the square, giving us a good view of the empty stable. Once everyone was seated and just as we were all getting restless and a little cold and wondering when the show would start, we heard baas and bleats and short, sharp barks. We craned our necks to see a flock of sheep coming around the corner into the blocked-off street in front of us. It was Seth Early in a rough homespun shepherd’s robe leading at least fifty of his enormous Lincoln sheep, accompanied by half a dozen Methodists, similarly dressed, and Lad, Seth’s Border Collie, who did such a good job keeping the flock together and in motion that the humans with their crooks were clearly just for decoration.

Following in the wake of the sheep were the other animals. A dozen cows, complete with old-fashioned bells, marched sedately behind two milkmaids in biblical costume. The half dozen lively goats each had its own keeper and still caused more trouble than all the cows and sheep put together.

I waved to my friend Betsy, who was leading several American Mammoth Jackstock donkeys, including one named Jim-Bob who had helped save my life during the summer. The final donkey pulled a rough wooden cart driven by Rose Noire and piled high with wooden cages containing ducks, geese, and chickens.

Next came the llamas, led by a tall shepherd I recognized as my brother Rob. Another donkey pulled yet another wooden cart, this one driven by Dad and bearing my grandfather, who was holding the leashes of his three wolves. He was right—the Arctic Wolf was particularly striking.

Caroline Willner followed, riding a small elephant that lived at her wildlife sanctuary. She was followed by more costumed men driving a pair of large pigs, a woman leading a very temperamental zebra, and a small flock of ostriches and emus.