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The plane battled through wall after wall of freezing rain during the approach into its destination. A sinking feeling filled me during the trip, only deepening as I made my way through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over having to be the place where I had been raised, after residing on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a couple of days, I headed out to get a my hair cut. My attention was miles away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something hit the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a pigeon on its back, splayed out, and convulsing.

The crash occurred just as schoolchildren were filing out from the local primary school and so within a short time a little crowd of little ones had assembled, accompanied by their parents. This circle of confused faces stared down at the creature, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my coat, bent down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, dear, the gentleman will look after her!” remarked one mum with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, unintentionally, as I had a short time earlier.

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

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to aid the bird (the name I gave my avian patient) would direct me to a web of local residents giving up significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for city pigeons but scans, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of mutual perplexity punctuated my hectic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for suggestions and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a bird rehabilitation group, and sent a request to participate.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group follows an organic system: someone in Manchester discovers an hurt pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will step forward to care for the bird.

Volunteers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s mending broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on kindness.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would give medication and a course of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of avian courier once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the treatment she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything remotely similar. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one plummet from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to security.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to stare at the sky between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as simple, dirty or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

That? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly earthbound life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each happy coo, often prompted by her favourite treat, peas, feels like a demonstration in perseverance and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me another side to the city I thought I knew.