A/N: Because this fic is Wallace telling a story, the dialogue is in italics, and the narrative includes some of his strange lingo.

Disclaimer: Aardman Studios owns Wallace and Gromit.

Chapter 1

I've made mistakes.

I don't like being negative—"keep your chin up," that's what me Mum always says—but there's no use prevaricating about the bush. I've had some barmy plans, some bugger ideas, some dotty inventions. Even my best projects often have unexpected—and unpleasant—side effects. I'll give you that.

Well now, it's a bit harsh to call me completely gormless. After all, the scientific process always involves a little trial and error. Still, I'm not afraid to admit it, so I'll say it again: I've made mistakes. But I'm not here to talk about that.

This is the one time I truly got something right.

It was a normal, drizzly day, and I was just driving home from me latest job. Wallace's Click-Clack Sewing Service, I used to call it. Tailoring brought in a pretty steady pay, but it was a mite bit dull, to be honest. Me options were limited back then—it's hard to run a solo operation—but I always managed to think o' something. Just like little buzzing bees, new schemes were already running through me head at that point.

I guess that there were too many ideas in that noggin o' mine that day—me eyes weren't on the road. All of a sudden, I felt an awful "thunk" resonating through the car. I slammed on the brakes as quickly as I could and hopped out, breathing hard.

Oh, cheese and crackers!

Lying on the pavement in a pool of its own blood was a beige-furred puppy.

Finally coming to me senses, me head snapped left and right. No one appeared to be calling after the pooch. I managed to study it more carefully—not an easy task to do without retching—and discerned that it wasn't wearing any sort of collar or identification. It opened its eyes as I stared, me stomach twisting into a knot.

Well...I guess you'll just have to come with me, little one.

Gingerly, I scooped up the pup, laid it in the shotgun seat of the car, made a questionable turn, and sped off to the nearest veterinary clinic.

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Mr. Wallace?

I remember feeling reeling and knackered, but I turned to face Ms. Canis, the veterinarian to hear the bad news.

We've done all we can, but I'm afraid that your dog is in a bad way. Several of his joints have been dislocated, and there's damage to the brain.

She bowed her head in sympathy.

I'm afraid that your best choice now would be to put him down.

I can tell you that, for sure, there was a lump in my throat by that point. The thought o' that poor puppy fading so young, of those innocent navy blue eyes closing forever because of me...the guilt was unbearable.

No!

Mr. Wallace?

Er...I mean...if it's alright by you, I'd like to take the pooch home and let my...me brother do the deed. He's an animal doctor as well, and doing it this way give us all a chance to say our goodbyes, so...

I'll bet me ears were bright red by then—I've never been a good liar.

I don't normally do this, but I'll allow it.

Ms. Canis put a hand on my shoulder at that point, bless her heart.

I saw your face in the waiting room. You must have been close to the poor dear. You know, Mr. Wallace, my Mum's cat had kittens when I was young. I began to love the runt of the litter, but she died within a few days. I know how hard it is to part with a treasured companion, especially after such a short time.

The veterinarian unlocked the door to the examination room and handed me the pup, curled in a bundle of blankets.

Take him home. Tell him you love him before you have to say goodbye.

I can't remember if I thanked her—I was too flustered at that point—but I do know what I said over my shoulder.

Don't think of it as an end, but as the beginning of a new adventure.