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The plane pushed through layer after layer of icy precipitation as it landed into its destination. A sinking feeling filled me during the flight, intensifying as I shuffled through the terminal. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had grown up, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My mind was miles away, back across an sea, when I was startled by something hit the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its wings, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The impact happened just as schoolchildren were filing out from the local elementary school and so within moments a small chorus of children had assembled, surrounded by their mums and dads. This circle of confused faces stared down at the pigeon, uncertain what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my jacket, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, love, the kind man will take care of her!” exclaimed one mother with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, unintentionally, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms held out, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my new friend) would direct me to a web of Mancunians giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, recovery care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I located a small container for Belinda, prepared it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those moments of mutual bewilderment punctuated my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for guidance and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to participate.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group has an decentralized method: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “carer” will step forward to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would provide medication and a course of gentle physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the care she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything comparable. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Miners started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to stare at the heavens between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, dirty or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave that in the car park and we’ll end its life.”

It? Not her. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each contented sound, often caused by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a example in perseverance and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me another side to the city I believed I understood.