Eighteen years ago, a month into my addiction recovery, I attended a 12-step meeting where someone shared about losing his dog. He cried through his story, and I wept for him. I had a beagle named Peanut, and the thought of losing him was unbearable. I turned to my sponsor and whispered, “If that happens to Peanut, I’m sure I’ll go out. Relapse.” He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “I understand the grief and feeling, but when your recovery is slid, that won’t be a thought you’ll have.