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Our aircraft battled through layer after layer of sleet as it landed into the city. A sense of dread filled me during the trip, growing stronger as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I resented coming back to the place where I had spent my youth, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My mind was distant, lingering over an sea, when I became aware of something strike the sidewalk. I looked down to see a pigeon on its wings, sprawled, and convulsing.

The fall happened just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within minutes a small chorus of youngsters had gathered, surrounded by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces peered down at the creature, uncertain what to do or say. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my coat, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “Don’t worry, sweet, 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 come down hard, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I walked slowly home, arms held out, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to rescue the bird (the name I chose for my new friend) would guide me to a community of city dwellers giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but X-rays, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a small container for Belinda, lined it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of mutual confusion interrupted my hectic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for suggestions and one proposed trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to join.

A Community Effort

Boasting thousands of members, the group operates on an decentralized model: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a pleading post is created, then a comment section “triage” takes place. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will step forward to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer medication and a program of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could obtain the attention she required.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had called home while away could claim anything remotely similar. It also occurred to 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 plummet from the sky into the grounds of my high school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to pick it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since been lost – one of several friends to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made the return so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Workers started to care for the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to stare at the sky between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

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

That? Not her. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied call, often caused by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a example in adaptability and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.