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Our aircraft pushed through layer after layer of sleet on its descent into its destination. A growing unease settled over me during the journey, intensifying as I walked through the airport. I was unhappy about returning to the place where I had spent my youth, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My mind was miles away, lingering over an ocean, when I became aware of something smack into the pavement. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its back, sprawled, and twitching.

The impact took place just as kids were filing out from the local elementary school and so within moments a small chorus of children had formed, accompanied by their mums and dads. This ring of puzzled faces peered down at the pigeon, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my jacket, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, sweet, the nice man will look after her!” exclaimed one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to medivac Belinda (the name I gave my patient) would lead me to a web of local residents sacrificing significant amounts of time to provide not only ambulances for feral pigeons but X-rays, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, prepared it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those periods of mutual perplexity punctuated my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for suggestions and one suggested trying social media, where, to my surprise, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and submitted a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group operates on an organic system: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “triage” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will volunteer to care for the bird.

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

Belinda was quickly assessed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would give comfort and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to drop from above. I resumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, boarding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the care she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After finding this hidden pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything even close. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the schoolyard of my high school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to security.

The individual has since died – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made returning home so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them solace and an reason to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as simple, unclean or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the lot and we’ll put it down.”

That? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly grounded life with success in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each happy call, often elicited by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a lesson in resilience and fortitude – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me another side to the city I believed I understood.