Not far from Torrisi, the trendy Italian restaurant popular with Taylor Swift and other celebrities, and Stüssy, a streetwear store where teenage boys wait in line for hoodies, three sheep roamed NoLIta on a Saturday morning this fall.
One, named Francesco, let out a slow, baritone bleat.
Onlookers gasped. Francesco, alongside his hoofed companions, Clare and Therese, appeared unfazed, ears flopping as he chewed on grass near a lopsided tombstone.
Since 2013, the north graveyard of the Basilica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral has hosted the fluffy farm animals for the fall season. Coming from a different farm in the region each year, the sheep patrol the only active Catholic burial grounds in Manhattan from September to November.
“The sheep are seasonal visitors unto our campus here,” said the Rev. Daniel Ray, pastor of the historic parish. This year, the sheep came from Jerry’s Farm on Long Island, at a price the church would not disclose.
But after 13 years, the tradition is ending.
A little more than a decade ago, the church reopened the burial grounds for interment and, since then, the remains of nearly 300 people have been interred in the underground crypt and aboveground graveyard.
As more people come to pay their respects, the church is adding pathways, benches and flowers around the outdoor columbaria. That means the sheep will no longer have sufficient terrain to meander.
“It’s bittersweet,” said Thomas Wilkinson, the church-appointed head shepherd who feeds the sheep alfalfa hay and biscuits.
“This is my favorite time of year,” he said. “I’m going to miss them so much.”
Mr. Wilkinson, who owns Tommy’s New York, a company that gives walking tours, guides visitors through the underground catacombs of the basilica and the graveyard where the sheep graze. He has helped the church navigate the logistics of hosting farm animals in New York, including a required exhibition license.
With help from his assistant shepherds, who are part of the Knights of Columbus, a Catholic service organization, Mr. Wilkinson makes sure that the sheep thrive.
For Father Ray and the Rev. Luigi Portarulo, the sheep represent a living metaphor for the Christian tradition of Jesus as the Good Shepherd. And it’s hoped that they will invigorate interest in the Catholic faith, especially among children.
“This is also a way to explain to the children some parables of God,” Father Portarulo said in a heavy Italian accent. “The sheep we have today are the same sheep Jesus saw 2,000 years ago.”
Of course, there’s the added benefit of three sheep — their number invoking the Holy Trinity — trimming the grass around the tombstones.
“We say that they’re our lambscapers,” Mr. Wilkinson said.
He tried in earlier years to keep the sheep until December for a living Nativity scene, but snow dashed those plans. This year, with a milder winter predicted, he’s optimistic that the sheep can keep watch through the holidays.
On Oct. 4, Father Portarulo blessed the sheep, alongside household pets that children brought, with holy water. The date was significant: It was the 800th anniversary of the death of St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals.
Inspired by that saint, the male sheep was christened Francesco. Clare was named after St. Clare of Assisi, and Therese after St. Thérèse of Lisieux. Another year, the sheep were named Patty, LaVerne and Maxene in honor of the Andrews Sisters, a 1940s musical act.
“They lived up to their name, because they were singing all day long and all night long,” Mr. Wilkinson said. Over the years, the neighbors occasionally complained about the bleating sheep.
“You move into the middle of Manhattan, you’re a transplant, and of all the things you can complain about,” said Mr. Wilkinson, trailed by Francesco and Clare.
Still, the sheep remain widely beloved, especially around Halloween and the Catholic Church’s observance of All Saints’ Day on Nov. 1 and All Souls’ Day on Nov. 2.
Michael Autore and Lexa Autore, who are married, live nearby on Mott Street and enjoy seeing the sheep as they walk their dog.
“It’s just another New York City moment,” Mr. Autore, a personal trainer, said. “You just turn the corner, and you just happen to see sheep.”
When the couple heard that the sheep would not be returning, Mr. Autore let out an expletive-laced response.
“It’s such a little highlight just to see some cute sheep in the middle of New York City,” Ms. Autore, also a trainer, said.
On a chilly Monday afternoon, as children climbed a metal fence to glimpse the sheep, Mr. Wilkinson fed them crumbling alfalfa hay that smelled of wet earth.
Despite the graveyard renovations, Mr. Wilkinson held onto hope — for the sheep, and for a secular miracle.
“Who knows?” he said. “Maybe after everything is said and done, with the big redo of the graveyard and the landscape here, there will be a way to accommodate them.”
As if on cue, Francesco, the biggest of the sheep, let out a basso bleat.
“There’s always hope,” Mr. Wilkinson said. “This is the church of hope here.”
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