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Our aircraft battled through layer after layer of freezing rain on its descent into its destination. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, only deepening as I made my way through the terminal. I resented coming back to the town where I had spent my youth, after making a home on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a few days, I headed out to get a haircut. My mind was miles away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something strike the ground. I looked down to see a bird on its back, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The fall took place just as children were emerging from the local elementary school and so within moments a small chorus of youngsters had assembled, surrounded by their parents. This circle of confused faces stared down at the bird, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my jacket, crouched down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, love, the nice man will look after her!” said one mother with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, unintentionally, as I had a short time earlier.

I walked slowly home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird nestled inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to rescue the bird (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would direct me to a community of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, convalescence, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, placed inside it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of mutual bewilderment interrupted my desperate search for what to do after that. I called friends for advice and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and submitted a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an organic model: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs physio, a “rehabber” will step forward to foster the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would provide comfort and a course of careful physio. We never found out exactly what made her to drop from above. I resumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the attention she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything even close. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to rescue it and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since died – 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 big part of what had made returning home so painful.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “companion” animals, especially in the certain regions. Laborers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to stare at the heavens between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as stupid, diseased or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave that in the parking lot and we’ll end its life.”

It? Not her. Although improbable to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented coo, often elicited by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in perseverance and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me a new dimension to the city I thought I knew.