There were in the same county (that of Lackawana) shepherds in the fields keeping watch over their flocks. Three of them sat huddled around a small fire, enveloped in layers of clothing and blankets, sitting quietly while they watched the sheep grazing in the valley below them.

"Why are we called shepherds?" the large, balding one asked, breaking the silence.

The other two remained silent. They weren’t sure if either one of them wanted to entertain their coworkers ridiculous question. But, just for the sake of conversation, one of the two, a smaller, darker skinned male, took the bait.

"What do you mean, Kevin?"

Keving continued in his slow, methodical, monotone. "You know, we’re called shepherds, but we herd sheep. So we should be called sheepherds. Sheeperds." he repeated the word again, slowly, for emphasis.

The third member, a slight female named Angela, spoke up.

"Kevin, that is the dumbest thing I think you’ve ever said. I’m serious. I mean, you’ve said so many dumb things that really and truly it’s hard to rate just one of them as the dumbest, but I’m pretty sure that was it."

Angela sighed and looked away.

Kevin sat stunned.

Oscar, ever the sympathetic one, and all to often the mediator between his squabbling co-shepherds, choose to redirect the conversation to a more neutral topic.

"So I think the numbers are down again" he said.

"What? That’s impossible. I just counted them at the second watch. All the sheep are accounted for. I’m sure of it, Oscar" Angela barked.

Angela, I just did a count. Three score and nine. You can ..."

Oscar was interrupted by Kevin’s loud burst of laughter. Oscar stopped and he and Angela looked at him.

Kevin, what is it?" they asked.

"Oh nothing", Kevin replied, still giggling. "Three score and nine", he whispered to himself.

Angela and Oscar resumed their conversation.
"How can we be down four sheep in one night, Oscar? Where’s your scroll? Show me the numbers."

"They're all right here", Oscar said, reaching for his parchment. "You can look them over for yourself. And hey, if you don’t believe my numbers, maybe you can get your suitor at the Scranton Inn to double check them for me."

Angela was aghast. "Oscar! That is inappropriate! We shall have no more discussions about it."

Wait, wait. What?" Kevin asked, always the last one in on the joke, or the news.
Oscar didn’t wait for Angelas next rebuke.

"Our little shepherdess here was seen after temple talking with the night manager at the Scranton Inn last week."

"Oscar, I said that it was inappropriate!" Angela’s voice was stern, but even in the darkness of the night the two men could see the flushed colour of her cheeks.

"Dwight Bar-Dwight Schrute?" Kevin asked incredulously. "Are you kidding me? Isn’t he the assistant to the night manager?" And then he broke out giggling again.

"It is none of your business, and I will thank you in advance for respecting our privacy in this matter."

"Okay, fine," Kevin conceded. So, how many sheep did you say we had, Oscar?"

A moment later, Kevins child-like laughter rang out into the night.

************