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Our aircraft forced its way through wall after wall of icy precipitation as it landed into the city. A sense of dread settled over me during the trip, growing stronger as I walked through the airport. I felt bitter over having to be the place where I had grown up, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My thoughts was miles away, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something smack into the pavement. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its wings, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The impact happened just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within a short time a small chorus of youngsters had gathered, surrounded by their mums and dads. This group of puzzled faces looked down at the bird, unsure what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my coat, crouched down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, dear, the kind man will look after her!” remarked one mum with a audible relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to medivac Belinda (the name I gave my avian patient) would direct me to a network of local residents giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those instances of common perplexity punctuated my frantic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for suggestions and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an decentralized model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is made, then a comment section “assessment” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will offer to care for the bird.

Volunteers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on kindness.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would give medication and a program of patient physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, taking the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the attention she deserved.

A New Perspective

After discovering this secret pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything even close. 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 witnessed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my secondary school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The individual has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a history as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

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

That? Not this bird. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has taken to her newly land-based life with grace in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy call, often prompted by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.