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T battled through wall after wall of freezing rain on its descent into the city. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I made my way through the airport. I was unhappy about having to be the town where I had grown up, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a trim. My mind was distant, back across an ocean, when I became aware of something hit the pavement. I looked down to see a bird on its side, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The crash occurred just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local elementary school and so within moments a little crowd of children had assembled, accompanied by their parents. This ring of bemused faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my coat, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the nice man will help her!” exclaimed one parent 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 trudged home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to medivac the bird (the name I chose for my patient) would guide me to a community of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for street birds but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, placed inside 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 moments of common perplexity marked my hectic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for guidance and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to become a member.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group follows an organic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is made, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can organize it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would administer comfort and a regimen of patient physio. We never learned exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, taking the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the treatment she deserved.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since died – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made the return so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to stare at the sky between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

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

That? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has embraced her newly land-based life with success in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.