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Our aircraft pushed through successive sheets of icy precipitation on its descent into Manchester. A sense of dread settled over me during the journey, only deepening as I made my way through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about returning to the city where I had grown up, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I ventured out to get a haircut. My mind was far away, lingering over an ocean, when I became aware of something smack into the sidewalk. I looked down to see a rock dove on its back, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The fall took place just as kids were filing out from the local primary school and so within minutes a group of children had formed, surrounded by their mums and dads. This ring of puzzled faces peered down at the creature, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my coat, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, love, the kind man will help her!” said one mum with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

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

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to aid my feathered charge (the name I chose for my avian patient) would direct me to a web of Mancunians giving up significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for city pigeons but scans, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of common confusion punctuated my frantic search for what to do after that. I contacted friends for suggestions and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I found a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to join.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an organic system: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “triage” follows. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a vet link can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will offer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their significant, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would give pain relief and a regimen of patient physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the tram across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the care she required.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I doubt any of the places I had called home while away could claim anything remotely similar. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one fall from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to pick it up and take it to a safe place.

The individual has since died – one of four friends to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an reason to stare at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the hard times, workers on the assistance also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as simple, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, 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 aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied sound, often prompted by her favourite treat, peas, feels like a lesson in resilience and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for revealing to me another side to the city I was familiar with.