The first time was about five years ago when we were taking our daughter and her show pony to the Morrinsville A & P Show. We left Auckland's south-bound Southern Motorway with the intention of getting petrol at the big service centre.
There was an ominous thud as the horse-float went over a judder bar. I looked behind to see the float compartment had partly detached from the base and was tilted up on maybe a 35-degree angle.
Once we'd stopped, I rushed out of the car and opened the rear doors of the float. Normally the pony had to step off from a height of about 20cm to the ground.
But now the left side of the float was about 1.3m high. There was no way this little pony could safely make that leap.
The pony was calm and eating her hay so we took a few minutes to try to think of a solution but we were stumped. I decided to dial 111.
When the fire crew arrived, they seemed worried that the pony would escape and cause havoc on the motorway. Whoever came up with the solution was a genius.
The lead fire officer called a friend who turned up with her float and lowered its ramp down onto the damaged float. The pony walked easily across to safety. Problem solved.
We were very grateful for all the assistance. We sent wine to the fire officers and to the woman who lent us her float. Our trust in floats, though, was shattered.
Records showed that the one in question had just returned from a professional maintenance service. We transport our horses by truck now.
I made my second emergency call last year when I saw what might have been steam wafting from the guttering of a house in rural south Auckland. The house was operated by a university so I'd thought this could have been part of an experiment.
I waited a few minutes to gather the resolve to dial 111. The fire brigade attended swiftly and put out a fire they believe started with a gas heater.
My call had helped prevent serious damage. By the time the fire fighters arrived, smoke was pouring out of the house. It was obvious something was wrong. But when I saw the first occasional puffs of smoke, I tried to imagine a benign explanation.
My third 111 call was made just before Easter this year when a storm hit Hawkes Bay. We were driving along a rural road after dinner when we came around a corner to find a large fallen tree blocking our side of the road. We steered around it but branches become lodged in one of our car wheels so we were unable to keep going.
Worried our car would be hit by another vehicle, we reversed so that the fallen tree was right behind us (and protecting us from traffic coming around the corner).
By this stage, I'd identified two reasons to call emergency services. Not only were we stuck but there was a significant hazard to other motorists.
I dialed 111 and asked for the fire brigade before you could say are-you-sure-we-can't-sort-this-out-ourselves. While I was on the call, my husband managed to remove the branches and we continued on our way.
The following morning only some foliage and an orange road-cone remained where the fallen tree had been.
Since then I've discovered I'm not the only person who's experienced an internal struggle about calling 111. Here's what the NZ Police website says about that situation: "If you can't decide if it's a real emergency and you're still worried, call 111 and ask us. We'll help you work out what to do."
Just don't be someone who calls because your football team lost a match, a deli made your sandwich wrong or you've run out of toilet paper. True stories.
