The halls of a middle school in the Las Vegas Valley feel different now. After the holiday break, students returned to classrooms, schedules resumed, and lessons picked up where they left off — but something was missing. A calm presence. A familiar comfort. A small soul who made hard days easier.
Her name is Missy.
Missy is an 8-year-old emotional support dog who, for years, was part of the daily rhythm of the school. She belongs to Kimberli Griffin, a special education teacher who brought Missy with her not just as a companion, but as a source of stability for students who needed extra support. In classrooms where emotions could run high and words sometimes fell short, Missy offered something simple and powerful — quiet reassurance.
She didn’t need to speak.
She didn’t need to move much.
She just needed to be there.
Students would sit beside her, rest a hand on her fur, or simply glance over and feel calmer knowing she was close. Teachers say Missy helped create a sense of safety, especially for students navigating anxiety, sensory challenges, or difficult moments during the school day. Over time, she became more than a dog. She became part of the school’s heart.
Then, during the holiday break, Missy disappeared.
She was last seen on December 26, in the Trilogy Sunstone neighborhood near Kyle Canyon Road, in the northwest part of the valley. When school resumed and Griffin returned to work, Missy was no longer by her side — and the absence was immediately felt.
For Griffin, the worry runs deep.
Missy has ongoing health issues and depends on daily medication. Without it, her well-being is at risk. When she went missing, Missy was not wearing a collar, though she is microchipped, offering some hope that she can still be identified and returned if found.
Griffin describes the loss as deeply personal — like losing a member of her family. Missy has been with her through years of teaching, long days, and emotional moments both at home and at school. The bond between them goes far beyond routine. It’s built on trust, care, and shared purpose.
But Griffin isn’t just searching for Missy for herself.
She’s searching for her students.
The children who ask where Missy is.
The ones who notice the empty spot in the classroom.
The ones who felt calmer simply knowing she was there.
Griffin holds onto hope — the belief that Missy is safe, that someone may have taken her in, not realizing how many people are waiting for her return. She believes there is someone out there who will recognize that Missy isn’t just a lost dog, but a vital source of comfort for children who need her.
In the quiet halls of the school, her absence is felt every day. But so is the hope that she will walk back through those doors again — tail wagging, calm as ever — ready to take her place beside the students who miss her gentle presence.
Until then, Griffin waits.
The students wait.
And a school holds space for a dog who changed lives simply by being kind, steady, and there.
Missy is loved.
Missy is missed.
And Missy is still being searched for — with hope.
