Even on the night before Christmas I am sure you would see the shepherds and their faithful dogs taking some time for rest at the Shepherd and Flock. Through clouds of thick pipe smoke they warm themselves in front of the roaring fire. Happily exhausted they would play games, drink, feed on spicy hams with pickled walnuts, and exchange stories.
   Their flocks would never be far from their minds and before long they would be away again trudging up the hill through the thickening snow for another shift.
   Armed with a warm mug of mulled wine between their hands, they watch out over their flocks. In the corner of one eye there would be the ever present warm inviting glow from the Inn down in the valley below while in the other eye perhaps the hope of seeing a new star.
   The Inn would not shut on Christmas night, not for the shepherds, for them the door was always open....