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Today marks what would have been Deanne’s 40th Birthday. As such, today is about celebrating her. She deserves that and so much more. This photo is from her unexpected (always was) 2013 visit. I have very few photos with or of Deanne because when I was with her, I just wanted to be with her. I didn’t care about taking photos…but I’m so thankful I have found a few. This is from the last time she visited me here in San Diego. I was working on the 4th piece of “Regenaissance” at that time and it was right around this time of year. I subsequently made one final visit to see her in Washington. That was the last time I saw her. 

Deanne disappeared in November, 2015 and because of her battles with addiction and mental health, she was deemed less important in the eyes of those responsible for finding her. It was a case of “At least now she’s at peace.” Deanne was a mother of three and my best friend. I loved nobody more. Glaring oversights were made in her investigation and both she and her story have since been forgotten by most. I have written two blog posts and recorded a podcast at CariniArts.com that include a candid look at the woman she was and also an update written this week based on new information made available to me.

The best way you can help Deanne is simply to share her story until it gets in front of the right person or gets enough traction for the people that should have done something about it to finally do something about it.

Happy Birthday Deanne! I love you always and forever-

Mine:

- when I was teaching my dog Pinkman to boop she thought she was getting food for hitting her head on things so for like two full weeks she ran around indiscriminately smashing her face into walls and furniture and then asking for a treat

Training him to sit means he sits on my feet whenever I’m carrying food.  I have tripped over him.  A lot.  He especially loves plopping his ass on my feet as I open the fridge. 

Platform?  Oh shit, that just means he learned how LEDGES work and now he treats the entire house like his own personal platforming video game.  I had to re-arrange the kitchen to move the chairs further from the counters.

High five?  He repeatedly smacks my hand if I’m holding food, because he assumes that’s the same thing as a high five.

The ultimate result of scent-training was that he hunted down the box I kept scented things in and tore it apart.  I MEAN, I GUESS THAT’S THE SPIRIT OF THE GAME BUT STILL.

Food excites her.

Training excites her.