Chief Dog Poop and his Braves

I don’t think I am the only person to have thought once or twice that it would be nice to have a name like the ones you hear in Westerns: Soaring Eagle, say, or Jumping Raccoon. In one film, of which I remember nothing else, one of the characters said that Native American children were given names on the basis of the first noticeable thing spotted after their birth. I don’t know if that is true, but if it is, it means that in Central Rome, where I live, there would be no chance of being called Soaring Eagle, because there are no eagles, not even drooping ones.

But if I were a member of a native tribe here and the criterion used was the one described, the roll-call of our braves would go something like this:

Crazy Scooter

Sitting Drunk

Missing Cobblestone

Slice of Pizza

Singing Postman

Double Parking

Noisy Seagull

Noisy Crow

Never-arriving bus

Smell of Frying

Chiming Bells

Silly Postcard

Police Siren

Smell of Coffee

Imperturbable Rat

Hanging-in-the-street Washing

Broken Umbrella

Sudden Nuns

Dripping Water

Dog Poop

Cloud of Starlings

Car Horn

Everything-for-1-Euro