I was born to a very nice couple who owned a Collie named Aaron at the time of my birth. My mother had never thought of the name Erin for a girl, but sometime around her 7th month of pregnancy she decided that if her child was a girl, it would be named Erin, rationalizing to herself and her husband that it was a completely different name than their dog’s. Thus, I was born and named Erin and the rest is history, or her-story, or rather, my story. “What became of the dog?” many will ask from time to time. Coincidentally, on the day of my birth, my parents changed the dog’s name to “Ronie,” and he lived the rest of his days in utter confusion every time my parents said “Erin, pick up your toys,” or “Erin, put on some clothes.”
