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The plane pushed through successive sheets of freezing rain on its descent into the city. A growing unease filled me during the trip, growing stronger as I shuffled through the airport. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had spent my youth, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a few days, I headed out to get a my hair cut. My mind was distant, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something strike the sidewalk. I looked down to see a pigeon on its wings, spatchcocked, and trembling.

The fall happened just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local primary school and so within moments a small chorus of children had gathered, flanked by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces stared down at the pigeon, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my jacket, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “No problem, sweet, the nice man will look after her!” exclaimed one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to medivac the bird (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would lead me to a community of local residents sacrificing significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for street birds but scans, recovery care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I retrieved a shoebox for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those moments of common confusion interrupted my hectic search for what to do from there. I phoned friends for guidance and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my surprise, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and sent a request to become a member.

A Grassroots Network

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an organic model: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a urgent post is created, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an examination, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will offer to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or dressing wounds. Their momentous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a course of careful physio. We never learned exactly what made her to drop from above. I took up the role of avian courier once more, taking the tram across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the attention she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could have anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one drop from the sky into the grounds of my high school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of several friends to pass away in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to look up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

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

It? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a lesson in perseverance and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for revealing to me another side to the city I believed I understood.