There are two ways I could've died yesterday, both of them involving fire. 

I was sick in bed, with some version of the local grippe, when I was abruptly awakened by the ringing of the doorbell.  I knew it was my octogenarian neighbor...few other people ring without having called first.  I usually welcome interaction with the venerable guy, but was feeling pretty weak and wondered what he could possibly be wanting. 

A quick glance out the back door revealed that nearly the whole back yard was smoldering, and my poor dog was scratching at the glass to get inside.  I poked my head out the front door, and there was my neighbor, struggling to put out a spreading blaze.  "I almost burned down your house!" he said.  Apparently, he was attempting to burn off the pasture, but the preliminary backburn got away from him when the wind changed.  I only became privy to this story gradually, however,  in shouted snippets over the next hour.
So, still feeling the feebleness of my infirmity, but suddenly boosted by a rush of adrenaline, I threw on a minimum of clothing and rushed out to save the day.  Buckets, towel and hose went flying, and before an hour was up we had successfully extinguished the conflagration.  Thankfully, no fruit trees were harmed, but some melty siding will need to be replaced.  The most amazing thing is the propitious circumstance of my illness, which kept me at home.  It took me another hour to get the chills under control.