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Our aircraft forced its way through wall after wall of freezing rain on its descent into Manchester. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the trip, growing stronger as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I resented coming back to the town where I had spent my youth, after residing on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My thoughts was distant, lingering over an sea, when I was startled by something strike the ground. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its side, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The fall happened just as kids were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within minutes a little crowd of little ones had gathered, surrounded by their mothers and fathers. This ring of confused faces stared down at the pigeon, uncertain what to do or say. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs a vet, can we call an emergency service?” I slipped off my coat, crouched down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, love, the nice man will look after her!” said one mother with a sense of relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

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

Little did I know that my spontaneous decision to aid Belinda (the name I chose for my avian patient) would guide me to a web of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only ambulances for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I located a small container for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those periods of common confusion interrupted my hectic search for what to do after that. I called friends for guidance and one suggested trying social media, where, to my amazement, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and put in a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group operates on an organic system: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a vet link can organize it; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will volunteer to foster the bird.

Volunteers each have their own finely honed skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or dressing wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a program of patient physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the care she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything remotely similar. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one fall from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the courage to rescue it and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since died – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a significant factor of what had made the return so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them solace and an excuse to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

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

That? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each happy sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a example in adaptability and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I was familiar with.