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The plane pushed through successive sheets of sleet as it landed into the city. A growing unease had accompanied me during the journey, only deepening as I made my way through the airport. I resented returning to the town where I had grown up, after making a home on the far side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a short while, I headed out to get a trim. My thoughts was miles away, back across an ocean, when I became aware of something hit the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its wings, sprawled, and trembling.

The crash happened just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local elementary school and so within minutes a group of children had formed, flanked by their parents. This group of puzzled faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I took off my jacket, knelt down and picked up the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the kind man will look after her!” said one mother with a sigh of relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, involuntarily, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms held out, with the bird nestled inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to medivac my feathered charge (the name I gave my new friend) would lead me to a web of city dwellers giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only ambulances for street birds but X-rays, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, placed inside it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of shared bewilderment marked my frantic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for advice and one proposed trying social media, where, to my surprise, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and submitted a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group follows an organic system: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. 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 “rehabilitator” will offer to foster the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and placed with a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a program of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of avian courier once more, taking the tram across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the attention she deserved.

A New Perspective

After finding this secret pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything even close. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to security.

The friend in question has since died – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them solace and an excuse to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as stupid, diseased or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the lot and we’ll put it down.”

The bird? Not this bird. Although unlikely to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly grounded life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied coo, often elicited by her favourite food, frozen peas, feels like a lesson in resilience and fortitude – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me another side to the city I was familiar with.