By kiki
In the late 1940s, I would take Pops' goat out to pasture on the small hills and open land that we had in the Simons Brickyard. I would let the goat run loose to eat. After two hours or so, I would go get the goat and bring it back home. I couldn't find the goat one day, so I went home and told Pops.
"Pops, I can't find the goat; it's lost."
"Don't worry, Mijo. We'll find it," said Pops.
One of Pop's drinking buddies knocked on the door the next day.
"Chicano, come and have birria and beer with us."
Pops was called Chicano by his buddies, and birria is Mexican BBQ cooked in a hole in the ground.
Pops went with his buddy, ate birria, and drank beer, and when he came back home, he told my Mom.
"I just ate my goat."
"Pops, they stole your goat?!" I asked him.
"Yes, Mijo, But at least they invited me for some birria." Que no?
