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The plane forced its way through layer after layer of freezing rain on its descent into its destination. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the trip, growing stronger as I made my way through the terminal. I felt bitter over returning to the city where I had been raised, after making a home on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a trim. My thoughts was miles away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I heard something strike the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its wings, splayed out, and twitching.

The fall occurred just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local elementary school and so within minutes a group of children had assembled, surrounded by their mothers and fathers. This circle of puzzled faces stared down at the pigeon, uncertain what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my anorak, knelt down and picked up the pigeon into it. “No problem, love, the nice man will look after her!” remarked one mum with a sigh of relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to medivac the bird (the name I gave my avian patient) would guide me to a community of local residents giving up significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, lined it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of shared bewilderment marked my desperate search for what to do after that. I contacted friends for guidance and one proposed trying online groups, where, to my amazement, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and sent a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an anarchic system: someone in Manchester discovers an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is made, then a comment section “triage” takes place. If the bird is deemed in need of an scan, someone with a vet link can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s setting broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly assessed with brain trauma, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer medication and a program of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to plummet. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, taking the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the care she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After finding this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one plummet from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since passed away – one of four friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a significant factor of what had made the return so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Laborers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to stare at the heavens between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the hard times, workers on the assistance also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as stupid, unclean or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the car park and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not her. Although improbable to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each happy coo, often prompted by her favourite treat, peas, feels like a lesson in adaptability and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.