TopKnotch: Adventures With Our Clueless Human: TopKnotch Tales

One

DR. SCHARR

But why do we have to see Dr. Scharr every year before I start school? She’s so horrible, revolting…horrid!"

Barely eleven, stripped to her stark white underwear, Robin sat dejectedly on the chrome examination table. Two large tortoise-shell clips pinned up her flowing brown hair. Fanny, her mom, sat next to her in a straight-back chair as they waited for what seemed like forever.

Last year, said Robin, examining every finger, she scolded me like the witch in Hansel and Gretel! So what if I bite my fingernails? It’s not like it’s a terminal disease or something.

Don’t be a whiner, dear. There are children all over the world who would give anything for a doctor to examine them.

Ignoring her mother’s remark, Robin rolled her eyes. This undershirt is so embarrassing. I should be wearing a bra by now. Sitting in silence, Robin slumped forward with her arms crossed over her chest, anchored by her thumbs in her armpit.

Robin, you’re always complaining! It’s a bad habit and—

Suddenly, Dr. Scharr, a wisp of a woman who looked like she was having a perpetually bad day entered the room.

Hello to ze mama! Dr. Scharr’s hand emerged from a gigantic white lab coat for the customary German handshake.

Hello, Dr. Scharr. So good to see you again, said Fanny, a bit over-enthusiastically.

Always the epitome of efficiency, Dr. Scharr pivoted on one heel and looked at Robin.

And how’s our little Robin?

I’m fine, Dr. Scharr. Robin smiled weakly. Really.

Not so little, I see, Dr. Scharr muttered, lifting the back of Robin’s undershirt, and placing her ice-cold stethoscope on Robin’s back.

Robin rolled her eyes again as she took in Dr. Scharr’s annual reprimand. Geez, give a girl a break. I’m only eleven!

Poking, pushing, and prodding Robin’s body down to the last toenail, the exam suddenly felt like a matter of life and death.

Suddenly, Dr. Scharr stared intently into Robin’s eyes.

Here it comes. I wonder what she’ll find to criticize me about this year?

Okay, little missy, you gained nine pounds over the summer. Veren’t you outzide playing at all? Vat did you do mit yourself?

Well, yeah, I, but…but…

But vat? demanded Dr. Scharr.

Robin turned and devil-stared at her mother, expecting her to say something—anything—to get her off the hook.

Well, Robin read all the Harry Potter books this summer and guess what? Fanny continued, as if to avoid further conversation, She won the summer library award for reading the most books!

Vell, good for her, but if she gains nine pounds every zummer, by the time she’s tventy she vill haf gained eighty-one pounds! Now, add it up—ninety pounds and eighty-one? Dr. Scharr paused just long enough to take a breath. Zat’s right, one hundred seventy-one pounds. At five feet, she vould be eighty-one pounds overveight! No young man is going to vant to date someone that’s eighty-one pounds overveight. Just think about that, little fräulein!

Robin wrinkled her nose as if she’d just gotten a whiff of some bad wiener schnitzel. Young man! Who cares about boys anyway? And what difference does it make?

Horrified and now perched on the edge of her seat, Fanny gasped, That would be dreadful! Isn’t there something she can do? Her sister is so skinny and can eat anything. Robin crossed her arms over her little round tummy and sucked in her cheeks, pouting. I hardly eat anything. Besides, Mom is the one who feeds me.

Looking from mother to daughter, Dr. Scharr continued with an air of steely resolve. Zo, here’s vat you must do. You must count every calorie zat passes through your two lips. Zat’s right, every last morsel. Here is the proper calorie counter book. She leaned over, heaved open a drawer brimming with pocket-sized calorie counter booklets, and as if revealing the Holy Grail, handed one to Robin.

Robin quickly leafed through it and then set it aside. This is so random. I’m not going to count every calorie and figure out…What a nut job!

Really, Dr. Scharr, I-I-I don’t think I’ll be needing this, she said, giving her mother a wide-eyed, jaw-clenching, you’d better agree or else look.

Fanny fixed her gaze on Dr. Scharr as though she was a modern voodoo doctor who has just cast a spell and asked, How does it work?

Vell, every food has a number assigned to it based on the portion size. Zo just because it zays potato equals one hundred calories, it doesn’t mean every potato is one hundred calories. It’s the average serving. Zo, take out zome potatoes and compare a few. Zen pick the average size and zhat’s the one zhat’s one hundred calories.

Incredulous, Robin asked, So you lay out all the potatoes on the table and pick the average looking one?

She’s really serious about this! Completely mental if you ask me! Robin’s face got really pouty, and her eyes turned to teeny, tiny slits.

Prezisely, Dr. Scharr beamed, leaning over to pat Fanny on the shoulder. I think she’s got it.

She turned to Robin. Now, I don’t vant to zee you back here next zummer mit another nine pounds, but added in a somewhat ominous tone, Lose no more zan two pounds a veek. Get a little notebook and write it all down or you’ll forget vat you ate and how much.

Any more questions? she asked, arching her left eyebrow in a very wicked, scary way.

Fanny stood and motioned Robin to get dressed. So, you just lay everything out side by side? Hmm…that shouldn’t be a problem.

Prezisely! Vell, it vas vonderful zeeing you again. Both zo charming!

While pulling her shirt over her head, Robin sighed half-heartedly, At least the witch in Hansel and Gretel liked ’em fat.

Pretending not to hear, Dr. Scharr reached over and gave Robin’s ear an affectionate tug and, in almost the same instant, she vanished as if swallowed up by a puff of smoke.

Two

EASTER FRAZZLE FLASHBACK

Come on, Little Dot, Robin coaxed her plump little Shih Tzu. I really want to win, and I saw a few more Peeps over on the ledge by the patio. Spotting four pink sugar bunnies standing straight up like miniature targets at a shooting range, Robin raced off with Little Dot in hot pursuit. See, here they are, Little Dot! I know I’m winning, so let’s eat one and save the rest."

After cramming a bunny into her mouth, Robin stuffed a second sweet confection into her Easter basket. Licking the fluffy sugar from her lips, she grumbled, I really don’t care how many calories it is; I’m just not going to count today!

Gazing lovingly at Robin, Little Dot tried to look adorable enough to merit a bite.

I could care less if those other girls are hot and skinny. I’m absolutely sick of being on a diet! Here you go, Little Dot, Robin said, handing her a bite of the candy. Those ears are probably five calories, that is, if you’re counting today.

Okay, people! It’s time to stop looking! shouted Fanny. She blew a whistle and the horde of children converged on her.

Fritz, Robin’s always nearby but ever-distant dad, stood to the side watching the commotion. Filthy! Absolutely filthy! he bellowed. It’s not enough that the dogs are dirty, but the girls will have to change clothes and we’ll most certainly be late!

Just because we aren’t ten minutes early doesn’t mean we’re late, scolded Fanny. "You’re the one who said they should get dressed to save time, Fritz. By the way, we are not changing!"

I won! I’m perfect! I won! Robin chanted, twirling around and around until the skirt of her pink gingham dress was perfectly parallel to her waist.

Robin! Stop! Fritz yelled. Stop shouting. How do you know you won?

Yeah, Robin! Nobody won! It’s not a contest, you freak! It’s an Easter egg hunt! yelled her bossy older sister, Dolly.

Did you count your candy, Robin? Fanny interjected. How do you know Sean didn’t win? Or Dolly?

Sean, part-time hooligan and Robin’s classmate, was part of the mix of family and guests. His coal-black hair stood on end like a thicket of dense brush. As though challenging Robin to a duel, he immediately dumped his candy on the ground and then crossed both arms over his staunchly built chest.

Robin took a fighting stance, looking at him skeptically. Okey-dokey, Sean. Besides losing, like the loser you are, you are a complete idiot, too. Nobody dumps their candy on the ground.

See, here’s mine! he declared, stepping back to admire the pile of colored eggs and bright foil-wrapped candies, with a random Peeps poking through.

I’m not dumping mine on the ground! That’s disgusting, Sean! exclaimed Robin. Besides, I’m not counting. I can just tell I have more!

Unwilling to let the rivalry escalate, Fanny declared, Robin, Sean is our guest, and it’s only good manners to let him be the winner.

Pausing, she turned toward Fritz, waiting for him to weigh in—which, of course, he did.

Okay, Sean’s the winner! announced Fritz, raising Sean’s arm like a victorious prizefighter.

Robin stomped her foot. What? Just because he’s a guest? I can’t believe it!

Elated, Sean did a victory dance around his candy and inadvertently ground a bright pink Peeps into the green grass.

You’re revolting, Sean! You just smashed a perfectly good Peeps to death.

Stop it, Robin! admonished Fritz. Where are your manners, young lady?

He turned to Fanny. Come on, we’re going to be late! Fritz, who had never been late or lost a contest advanced toward the house with a peculiar gait that looked like his head was preceding his body by at least a foot.

Fanny called to the others, Come on! Get a move on, children! Time for church! She moved from one to the next, fixing their disheveled hair, straightening their bows, and arranging their matching Easter outfits.

Along with some of the other guests, Sean and his mom moved quickly toward their car. See you at church! called Fanny. And, as if to inadvertently rub it in, she shouted, Congratulations, Sean!

Following Fritz at breakneck speed, Robin scampered toward the house with Little Dot waddling behind her. You saw that I won, right, Little Dot? My basket was completely full and Sean’s was only half, well, maybe a little over half full. What a huge rip-off! Just because Sean’s a guest, he won? In what universe!

Robin’s step quickened, but then her attention was diverted toward a commotion behind the neighbor’s hedge. Hearing peculiar voices, she peeked through a bare space slightly larger than her eye. Alarmed at what she saw, she picked up Little Dot.

What is going on in there? That is just scary. Come here Little Dot! She leaned in for a closer look through the peep hole, holding Little Dot tight.

I told you, it’s my hair. Now get away from me! cried a gawky boy wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt emblazoned with oversized toucans.

A huge, noisy, and disorderly flock of crows was nose-diving Luke’s pompadour-like hair. A particularly hideous crow with a grating, high-pitched squawk hollered, How do we know you’re not carrying Li’l Twit on your head there? He’s been missing for days. While fending off the crows, Luke was also trying to keep his big black glasses perched on his nose. Because I’m not! To the unobservant, it appeared Luke was talking to himself and not the crows.

OMG, Little Dot! Those crows think that guy is hiding their brother, Li’l Twit, in his hair! said Robin, pulling her tiny Shih Tzu even closer. He has such messy hair, they might be right.

Crows don’t have a large cerebral cortex, Little Dot whispered to Robin. Limited decision-making, more into brawn than brains.

How do you know that? Robin stared at her hairy little genius in disbelief.

Look! Little Dot gave Robin a nudge with her face.

Robin resumed her gaze toward the space in the hedge only to discover things had gotten worse.

See, I’ll show you! Luke shouted as he pulled a humongous comb with gigantic teeth from his back pocket and raked it through his hair.

With beaks pointed vertically downward, the crows advanced in full attack mode.

Robin squeezed Little Dot tighter, covered the dog’s eyes, and held her own breath so she wouldn’t scream.

You stab Li’l Twit, I swear we’ll waste you! squawked another repugnant crow.

With the extremely large comb still stuck in his hair, Luke continued to swing his arms at the crows, eventually launching his very large glasses into the air.

Robin opened one eye to see if Luke had made any progress. I might have to help by distracting those crows, Little Dot. Technically, it might be considerate and helpful, but…well, I just don’t know.

To her horror, Robin suddenly realized something astonishing and quite extraordinary. Little Dot, she exclaimed, "Besides hearing you, I can hear what those crows are saying, too!"

Three

LIFE IS MESSY

Little Dot nuzzled even closer and quizzically asked, What do you mean ‘hear’ them?

Well, more like ‘understand.’ You know what I mean; I can understand what they’re saying.

Well, of course, so can I!

"But you’re a dog! That’s not so weird. Robin shook it off. Just forget I said anything…and never tell anyone!"

Okay, but that’s not weird; and you’re not weird, not now or ever.

Nudging for position, Little Dot continued to share the peephole with Robin, as one human eye and one dog eye proceeded to watch the drama unfold next door.

In the background, framed in the kitchen window, Robin spotted a woman with a horrified expression. Her hair was tied into a topknot and held in place by a bright red handkerchief. A moment later, another woman, wearing a blue pastel dress with a bright pink apron, dashed out of the house.

Don’t squirt him! squealed Robin. For a moment, the woman in the topknot and bright red handkerchief glanced over at the hedge. But it was too late.

Robin and Little Dot watched in alarm as hot grease spewed from an oversized turkey baster, missing the birds completely. As the sizzling hot liquid settled on Luke’s left hand, he screamed in pain. Robin and Little Dot winced and snuggled even closer. Then, Robin slowly tiptoed backward away from the hedge so she wouldn’t be seen after her outburst.

Not to compare or anything, but some people have a life at least as weird as mine. Don’t you think?

Little Dot licked Robin’s cheek with her tiny pink tongue.

Do you think I should tell Dad, Little Dot? What if he finds out I can hear those crows? It’s hard enough keeping our conversations secret. She gave the pooch a big kiss on her furry little cheek and set her down.

Anyway, let’s go find Dad. I need to check the Sunday paper for something.

Fritz beamed and flipped to the stock market page. "Well, Robin, looks like you did pretty well shorting IBM the other day. Uh, where were you just now, by the way? I thought I heard you talking to someone.

Ignoring her dad’s inquiry, she jumped up and down barely missing Little Dot’s tiny paw. Oh goody! How much did I make? She had no idea what all the numbers meant, but eagerly climbed onto the arm of her dad’s chair for a better view. Little Dot wedged her plump little back end under the chair out of harm’s way.

Oh, about three hundred dollars. Not bad for an eleven-year-old!

He tweaked Robin’s cheek, quickly closed the paper, and then produced a starched white handkerchief and proceeded to clean the newsprint off