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The plane battled through successive sheets of freezing rain during the approach into its destination. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the trip, growing stronger as I made my way through the arrivals hall. I resented returning to the town where I had been raised, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I went out to get a trim. My mind was distant, back across an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something strike the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a bird on its side, splayed out, and trembling.

The fall happened just as children were filing out from the local grade school and so within minutes a group of little ones had formed, surrounded by their parents. This group of puzzled faces stared down at the pigeon, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more definitive: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my anorak, crouched down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “Don’t worry, love, the gentleman will help her!” said one parent with a sense of relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just come down hard, involuntarily, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the jacket.

Little did I know that my impromptu decision to aid the bird (the name I chose for my avian patient) would lead me to a community of Mancunians sacrificing significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for feral pigeons but scans, recovery care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, lined it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those instances of common confusion marked my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for guidance and one proposed trying online groups, where, to my surprise, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group follows an anarchic system: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “triage” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an examination, someone with a connection to a clinic can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s mending broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their tremendous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would provide medication and a course of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to plummet. I resumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the care she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this hidden pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my home town. I am skeptical 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 plummet from the sky into the schoolyard of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to pick it up and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of four friends to pass away in the years before my exit from Manchester. I realised that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to stare at the open air between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as simple, dirty or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the lot and we’ll end its life.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with grace in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented coo, often caused by her favourite food, peas, feels like a lesson in perseverance and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I thought I knew.