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The plane forced its way through layer after layer of icy precipitation on its descent into its destination. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the trip, growing stronger as I shuffled 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 eternity.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a trim. My attention was miles away, back across an sea, when I heard something strike the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a bird on its side, sprawled, and convulsing.

The fall happened just as schoolchildren were filing out from the local elementary school and so within minutes a small chorus of youngsters had gathered, surrounded by their mums and dads. This ring of puzzled faces looked down at the bird, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my coat, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, dear, the kind man will help her!” exclaimed one mother with a sense of relief. I had become the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I walked slowly home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

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

I found a small container for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of shared confusion interrupted my desperate search for what to do after that. I called friends for suggestions and one suggested trying social media, where, to my amazement, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an decentralized model: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” takes place. If the bird is deemed in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will offer to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and placed with a rehabber who would provide medication and a regimen of patient physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of avian courier once more, boarding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the treatment she needed.

A New Perspective

After discovering this secret pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything comparable. It also struck 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 surrounded the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since died – one of four friends to pass away in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to look up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, unclean or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll put it down.”

That? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly land-based life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied call, often prompted by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in adaptability and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me another side to the city I was familiar with.