Erstens, there's a bottle of German rosé in my kitchen, as well as two bottles of some Californian red, which may eventually prompt me to take back my dire assessment of New World wine.
Zweitens, as Pavolvian reflexes go, what do you do if the dog that you’re trying to discourage going for the bone actually likes the electric shock it gets and doesn’t really want the bone at all? Ich will sagen what if it likes the pain? How do you get around that? Just give it the bone?
It’s like that joke about the masochist who says “Hit me!” to which the sadist replies “no”. Zunächst glaubte ich an einen Scherz but it does actually make sense when you think about it rationally.
Of course I could be tremendously, philosophically drunk right now sage und schreibe, so...