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The plane pushed through wall after wall of sleet as it landed into Manchester. A growing unease filled me during the flight, intensifying as I made my way through the terminal. I felt bitter over returning to the city where I had spent my youth, after residing on the other side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a haircut. My thoughts was far away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something smack into the pavement. I looked down to see a pigeon on its side, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The fall took place just as kids were streaming out from the local primary school and so within moments a small chorus of youngsters had assembled, surrounded by their mums and dads. This circle of puzzled faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my anorak, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the kind man will look after her!” exclaimed one parent with a sense of relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

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

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to aid my feathered charge (the name I bestowed upon my avian patient) would direct me to a web of city dwellers sacrificing significant amounts of effort to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but X-rays, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those moments of shared confusion punctuated my hectic search for what to do next. I called friends for guidance and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I stumbled upon a bird rehabilitation group, and submitted a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group follows an organic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “assessment” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an examination, someone with a vet link can arrange it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “carer” will offer to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their tremendous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by kindness.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would give comfort and a program of patient physio. We never learned exactly what made her to plummet. I resumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could receive the treatment she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything remotely similar. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one fall from the sky into the playground of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of a number of companions to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made the return so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an excuse to gaze up at the heavens between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the assistance also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

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

It? Not this bird. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has taken to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied coo, often caused by her favourite food, peas, feels like a demonstration in adaptability and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.