I was woken from my pleasant slumber by a screeching siren. Stumbling out of bed in the early morning darkness, I reached for my bedroom door.

Through blurry eyes, I realised that it was my smoke alarm sending this high pitch wail. I automatically moved to the kitchen, where what seemed like a sea of flames was pouring upwards from my stove.

I first looked at the sink, then thought, No! Not water on electricity! I turned to my pantry and wished for a fire blanket. All this happened within seconds.

I hurried back to my bedroom and grabbed my phone from the bedside, dialling 000. There was banging on my front door. I raced to open it and there was my friendly neighbour, Dessey, and with the expertise of a NSW RFS smoke jumper, he moved me safely outside. Still trying to make sense of this, all I could do was repeat, ‘Pugsly, Pugsley…where’s my puppy?’

Dessey, with gentle perseverance, didn’t allow me back inside. Instead he instructed me to wake the neighbours and ask for their help to shut off my electricity. A moment later I was banging on my neighbours’ front door. Still filled with confusion, I fumbled out, ‘My house is on fire, get your kids out.’ I don’t remember my incoherent rant about the electricity box, although later I found out that I somehow got the message across.

I turned around to see my entire street filled with the firetruck’s blue and red lights, bouncing off every house in the still darkness of morning, my neighbours drowsily emerging in their dressing gowns and pyjamas. All I could do was repeat, “Pugsly, Pugsley. Please save her!”

Comforted by my neighbours in their yard just metres from my own, I saw the flames engulf my entire home and light the sky orange. I heard the sounds of my life crumpling, being reduced to ash by the ferocious and relentless flames, and thought, I will not rise from this!