This time, it’s his knee. Took a couple of days to realize that it was gout and not some kind of strain, but it is gout. I hate it when my pour husband’s gout decides to flare up. It seems to happen no matter how careful he is with his food choices. I am sure that stress plays into it. And since I’ve been stressed over everything lately, I feel partially responsible. I’m doing John’s chores today, because I really don’t want to see him painfully walking down the hill with three buckets full of mushy equine senior and beet pellets for our two old horses.  It hurts just to watch him try to walk. Now, John just carries all three buckets in his arms, but I can’t do that without tripping and dropping the extremely expensive feed all over the yard where the guinea fowl, ducks and three bantam chickens will eat it all up. I bought a neat little dump cart wagon for such chores. While I was filling the feed buckets with warm water to help the beet pellets and horse feed soften, I managed to spray myself with warm water, too.  I’m not the most coordinated person on earth.