Via San Gregorio Armeno in Napoli is a street practically devoted to selling Christmas ornaments. It's the Neapolitan alleyway equivalent of Santa's grotto, but staffed with wheeler-dealer Geppettos rather than cheerful elves. Perusing the vast array of hand-carved figurines on sale, you can choose to expand the historical scope of your family's nativity scene with such characters as Pulcinella and deceased soccer star Maradonna, neither of whom, as far as I'm aware, were present at the virgin birth. But then I'm one to talk.
Over the years, I've collected so many different types of animal for my own nativity scene that it more resembles a first-century veterinary clinic than a lowly cattle shed. I have four plastic camels because presumably the three wise men brought a spare; enough sheep and goats to supply baby Jesus with a lifetime's supply of artisanal cheese; some assorted-sizes of ducks and geese; two fluffy buffalo; an army of free range-chickens; and, for some reason, a leopard. Since one of the shepherds got lost somewhere along the way I've always assumed the leopard simply ate him. No tooth-marked, mangled cadaver has ever been discovered as evidence, but I prefer that explanation to blaming my own carelessness.
'Silent Night, Holy Night' disturbed by the deafening echo of feeding time at the zoo. That's how I imagine the nativity scene I've created might sound. Just the raucous quacking of ducks alone would drown-out the Herald Angels singing. No need to follow a star you Wise Men with your extra camel, because the clucking of all those crazy chickens and the bellowing buffalo will guide you to the manger much faster. In fact, the only 'silent' things here are the stealthy footsteps of the leopard stalking its unwary prey. You'd better watch out, as the song goes!
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