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Our aircraft pushed through successive sheets of icy precipitation during the approach into the city. A growing unease had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I made my way through the airport. I was unhappy about having to be the place where I had been raised, after living on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I ventured out to get a haircut. My attention was miles away, focused on an ocean, when I heard something strike the ground. I looked down to see a bird on its side, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The fall took place just as kids were emerging from the local grade school and so within moments a little crowd of little ones had gathered, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This group of confused faces stared down at the creature, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my coat, crouched down and picked up the pigeon into it. “Don’t worry, dear, the gentleman will look after her!” said one parent with a sigh of relief. I had turned into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, unintentionally, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

Little did I know that my spontaneous decision to aid my feathered charge (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would guide me to a web of Mancunians sacrificing significant amounts of effort 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 lift the lid just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those instances of mutual bewilderment punctuated my hectic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for guidance and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I found a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an anarchic model: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “triage” follows. If the bird is deemed in need of an examination, someone with a vet link can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will step forward to foster the bird.

Carers each have their own finely honed expertise, whether it’s setting broken wings or treating wounds. Their tremendous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would provide comfort and a course of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. 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 needed.

A New Perspective

After finding 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 resided in while away could claim anything even close. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend 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 returning home so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a history as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them company and an excuse to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the Depression, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as unintelligent, dirty or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the car park and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not her. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each satisfied coo, often caused by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a lesson in perseverance and strength – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.