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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of sleet on its descent into the city. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I walked through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about having to be the place where I had spent my youth, after residing on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I headed out to get a haircut. My thoughts was far away, back across an ocean, when I was startled by something hit the ground. I gazed down to see a bird on its wings, sprawled, and trembling.

The crash happened just as children were streaming out from the local primary school and so within a short time a group of little ones had formed, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This ring of confused faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my coat, bent down and picked up the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, dear, the gentleman will take care of her!” said one mum with a sense of relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

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

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to aid my feathered charge (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would guide me to a community of city dwellers sacrificing significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for city pigeons but X-rays, respite care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I retrieved a cardboard box 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 share a momentary glance.

Those instances of mutual bewilderment interrupted my hectic search for what to do after that. I phoned friends for advice and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an anarchic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an ailing pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will volunteer to foster the bird.

Carers each have their own finely honed expertise, whether it’s setting broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer medication and a regimen of gentle physio. We never learned exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could receive the attention she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After finding this hidden pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one drop from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to a safe place.

The individual has since passed away – one of several friends to pass away in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made coming back so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to stare at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the assistance also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as stupid, unclean or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the lot and we’ll end its life.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with grace in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied sound, often elicited by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a lesson in adaptability and resilience – and I am eternally thankful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.