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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of freezing rain as it landed into the city. A sense of dread settled over me during the flight, intensifying as I made my way through the terminal. I resented having to be the city where I had been raised, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a short while, I headed out to get a my hair cut. My thoughts was distant, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something strike the ground. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its wings, sprawled, and convulsing.

The crash happened just as kids were streaming out from the local grade school and so within moments a little crowd of children had formed, flanked by their parents. This ring of puzzled faces peered down at the pigeon, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my anorak, knelt down and picked up the pigeon into it. “Don’t worry, love, the nice man will take care of her!” remarked one mum with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Little did I know that my spontaneous decision to rescue the bird (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would lead me to a network of city dwellers sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but X-rays, recovery care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I located a small container for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those moments of common bewilderment marked my frantic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for advice and one proposed trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to participate.

A Community Effort

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an decentralized system: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a urgent post is created, then a comment section “evaluation” takes place. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs physio, a “carer” will step forward to look after the bird.

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

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would administer medication and a course of patient physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of avian courier once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the attention she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could claim anything comparable. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of four friends to pass away in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I realised that this had been a big part of what had made coming back so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to look up at the heavens between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

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

The bird? Not this bird. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has taken to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each happy call, often elicited by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a example in adaptability and fortitude – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I was familiar with.