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The plane battled through successive sheets of freezing rain on its descent into Manchester. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I walked through the airport. I resented having to be the place where I had grown up, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a trim. My mind was distant, back across an ocean, when I became aware of something smack into the pavement. I looked down to see a pigeon on its wings, sprawled, and twitching.

The fall occurred just as kids were emerging from the local elementary school and so within minutes a small chorus of youngsters had formed, accompanied by their mums and dads. This ring of bemused faces looked down at the bird, uncertain what to do or say. The kids were more definitive: “Dad, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my jacket, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, love, the kind man will help her!” exclaimed one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, unintentionally, as I had a short time earlier.

I trudged home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my avian patient) would guide me to a community of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for street birds but scans, recovery care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a small container 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 share a momentary glance.

Those instances of shared confusion punctuated my hectic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for guidance and one recommended trying social media, where, to my surprise, I stumbled upon a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group has an decentralized method: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an X-ray, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will step forward to care for the bird.

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

Belinda was quickly assessed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would provide pain relief and a course of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what made her to plummet. I resumed the role of avian courier once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the care she required.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I question any of the places I had called home while away could claim anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one fall 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 courage to pick it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made the return so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an excuse to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment 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 vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly earthbound life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each contented sound, often elicited by her favourite food, peas, feels like a lesson in resilience and resilience – and I am eternally thankful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.