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T forced its way through successive sheets of sleet on its descent into its destination. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the journey, only deepening as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about having to be the place where I had grown up, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a few days, I went out to get a trim. My thoughts was distant, back across an sea, when I heard something smack into the sidewalk. I looked down to see a pigeon on its back, spatchcocked, and trembling.

The impact took place just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within minutes a group of children had formed, flanked by their mothers and fathers. This group of bemused faces peered down at the bird, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my jacket, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “It’s okay, dear, the nice man will look after her!” exclaimed one mum with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, unintentionally, as I had a few days before.

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

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my new friend) would direct me to a community of local residents devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but X-rays, convalescence, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d open the box just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those instances of shared perplexity punctuated my hectic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for guidance and one recommended trying online groups, where, to my amazement, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to join.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group has an organic model: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will offer to look after the bird.

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

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would provide medication and a program of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I assumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the treatment she required.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had resided in while away could boast 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 observed one plummet from the sky into the grounds of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the nerve to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since passed away – one of four 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 returning home so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to stare at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

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

It? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has embraced her newly land-based life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each happy sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in adaptability and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I thought I knew.