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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of freezing rain on its descent into the city. A growing unease settled over me during the journey, only deepening as I walked through the terminal. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had been raised, after making a home on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a few days, I went out to get a haircut. My attention was far away, back across an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something hit the ground. I looked down to see a pigeon on its side, splayed out, and convulsing.

The impact took place just as kids were emerging from the local primary school and so within a short time a little crowd of youngsters had gathered, accompanied by their parents. This group of confused faces peered down at the pigeon, unsure what to do or say. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my anorak, knelt down and scooped the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the kind man will look after her!” said one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, involuntarily, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms held out, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to medivac the bird (the name I chose for my avian patient) would guide me to a web of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only rescue services for street birds but scans, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a small container for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those instances of mutual confusion interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for guidance and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group operates on an anarchic system: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a urgent post is made, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will volunteer to care for the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated specialities, whether it’s mending broken wings or treating wounds. Their significant, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer medication and a regimen of patient physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could receive the treatment she required.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything even close. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one drop from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to pick it up and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the Depression, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as unintelligent, unclean or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the car park and we’ll put it down.”

The bird? Not her. Although unlikely to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented sound, often prompted by her favourite food, peas, feels like a lesson in adaptability and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.