Mr. and Mrs. Lerone Pt 1

Toblerone's mother is a chocoholic. I have known this for the past eight years and was saddened when I could no longer find her jar of Tootsie Rolls. I knew this during the wake for her husband, when everyone was offered a Hershey's bar, and I knew this on Wednesday, when she was baking something that filled the house with the perfume of mocha.
If I ruminated on my relationship with Mrs. Lerone (as she's named in my telephone's list of contacts), I would come to the conclusion that I've been pretty good to her. This is neither an under- nor an overstatement-- there have been times when I've helped her out more than I thought I was capable of, just as there have been times that I've fallen short of what I was supposed to do. "Pretty good," over eight years, becomes "very consistent."
This longevity is something I've surprised myself with. I always considered myself the kind of person that would drop something after a certain amount of time, if for no other reason than the thought that such a long period of time would be awkward.
Anyhow, my relationship with Toblerone has always been a good one (except the few times that I didn't walk him. I hope he can forgive me-- I was in high school and my mind was often elsewhere).
First, let me digress...
Toblerone I was the dog I first started walking. We met when he was four years old (28 years old in approximated dog years, though the actual conversion isn't nearly as simple as "every Earth year equals 7 dog years") and he already had a full, gray beard. His demeanor was calm to the point of saintliness and he peed more often than a Cubs fan during a bad game. He was great, though, and his passing wasn't fun for anybody.
Toblerone II is the latest installment. He's seemingly a literal ball of energy and he likes to dispel some of his excitement by gnawing on things that aren't meant to be gnawed on (my backpack, trash on the side of the street, Hank's hand). Like the old Toby, though, he means nothing but well. He even has something in common with me: we both have unexpectedly deep voices (his always in the form of a gravelly growl or bark, mine only occasionally).
I have not been neighbors with Mrs. Lerone since last December when my mother sold our house and we moved up north. Despite this change of living arrangements, I stuck on as Toby IIs weekend athletic trainer (of sorts). I now make the commute nearly every day (though Toby and Mrs. Lerone do skip town fairly frequently) to take the little guy on an extended walk, or to the dog park, or just to play fetch and chew on sticks.