I saved a dog's life yesterday. I'm like a super hero (I'll have to get myself a cape and start wearing my underpants on the outside of my trousers).
This all started first thing in the morning, when I meandered my way into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, only to discover one of the ladies who works in the building poised to administer a lethal injection to her furry friend. (Let's call this lady "Cruella" to protect the innocent.)
One glance at the way she was waving the needle around, coupled with its contents, made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. "Excuse me, but what are you doing?" I asked (or words to that effect). Cruella replied that a couple of days ago the vet had informed her that her dog was diabetic, that she now had to administer insulin injections twice a day, and she was bringing the dog into work for the first few days to keep an eye on it.
I inquired how much insulin the dog required, and Cruella said it was 18 milliliters. "In that case," I said, "you're about to administer far too much."
There then followed a somewhat lively debate. Cruella pointed out that the side of the syringe was marked with a little line for every milliliter, and that there was a number (10, 20, 30…) every ten milliliters, and that two little lines before the 20 milliliter mark therefore equated to 18 milliliters. We both agreed on this basic premise, but I still argued that she was poised to administer an incorrect amount.
Can you guess what I was looking at? When you're ready, let's go to Page 2 of this blog to see if you guessed correctly…
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