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Our aircraft pushed through successive sheets of freezing rain during the approach into the city. A sense of dread filled me during the journey, only deepening as I shuffled through the terminal. I felt bitter over returning to the city where I had grown up, after making a home on the far side 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 miles away, focused on an ocean, when I was startled by something strike the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its side, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The crash took place just as children were filing out from the local grade school and so within moments a group of youngsters had gathered, flanked by their mums and dads. This circle of confused faces looked down at the pigeon, uncertain what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I removed my coat, crouched down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “It’s okay, dear, the kind man will take care of her!” remarked one parent with a audible relief. I had been transformed into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the garment.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to medivac my feathered charge (the name I gave my patient) would direct me to a web of Mancunians giving up significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for street birds but diagnostic imaging, recovery care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a small container for Belinda, lined it with an old 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 periods of common perplexity marked my hectic search for what to do from there. I called friends for advice and one proposed trying social media, where, to my amazement, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group operates on an decentralized method: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs physio, a “carer” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their significant, collective effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on kindness.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the tram across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the attention she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything comparable. It also dawned on 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 playground of my high school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to rescue it and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of a number of companions 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 coming back so difficult.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to look up at the sky between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as simple, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave it in the lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not her. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy call, often prompted by her favourite treat, peas, feels like a lesson in perseverance and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.