to begin

March 1, 2011

Page One

          without friends, no one would choose
          to live, though he had all other goods.
                            ~~~  aristotle

How does one begin? To describe how deeply fourteen animals (dogs, cats and birds) were loved, and how deeply they were needed. How vital they were to this particular person with Asperger’s Syndrome. How vital they were to this person with post-traumatic stress and depression and a physical illness that can be diabolically painful at times. I don’t know.

I know that what most people feel for their animals — and these are good people who love their animals — doesn’t quite reach the depth that my love for animals does. I know this, because these good people who love their animals have told me so over the years: I love them Anne, but I don’t love them quite the way you do.

In 2008, as the result of an illegal eviction and a gross failure of service by a huge “helping” agency, my fourteen animals were taken from me, hidden in various places, and presumably eventually euthanized. I was told ever-changing stories about where they were. No one said, except on one occasion, that I could visit them. I walked down a hill on

Wednesday the 12th March in 2008, where some of my animals had already been hauled off and others were waiting for such a fate, and I never saw even one of them again. Every single creature I loved, every single member of what was my very real and very necessary family, gone forever in the time it took me to walk down a hill.

I already had post-traumatic stress disorder on that day. What do I have now — PTSD times fourteen? Unless you have lost everyone you love on the same day, how can you know what I’m feeling, what I felt that day?

(photo is from a greeting card. i’ve reduced it to the point where you can’t see that there are fourteen five-point stars)


The lines below, from which I’ve taken the title of this book, are from a song I wrote in 1994, fourteen years before the decimation of my life and my animals’ lives. Looking at them now in the light of what has happened, these words make me wonder if I was having some kind of a premonition. Lots of people I’ve known believe they have them, and that others have them, but I’ve never really put myself into that group. Yet I find it eerie in some way that these words would actually be reflected back at me by true events, fourteen years later.                               

                             where her stars on this night
                             why this moon alone
                             mourning here stolen stars
                             spirit lost and gone

This book will be a pastiche of blog posts from the last three and half years, and pages newly written. All of the writing I have done since the eviction began as a hope to find some help somewhere in cyberspace: a sympathetic lawyer or journalist, or both. When that didn’t happen, I kept writing. To fill empty, ugly, alien hours. To have something to do, since for the first time in my life I had no animals to care for. To get into print somewhere the story of what had been done to us. To state the truth. And finally, as a tribute to them: in every word and page written about them in nearly four years; in every photo of them. A tribute to who they were as individuals, who they were as my family, and every single good thing, every single moment they gave me. 



read…    Spite and malice…    All my stars

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2011-2013 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.


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