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Our aircraft battled through layer after layer of freezing rain during the approach into the city. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I walked through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over returning to the town where I had grown up, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a few days, I went out to get a trim. My mind was far away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I heard something hit the ground. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its back, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The impact took place just as kids were emerging from the local primary school and so within minutes a group of children had gathered, surrounded by their parents. This group of puzzled faces stared down at the pigeon, unsure what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I removed my anorak, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “No problem, love, the nice man will help her!” remarked one parent with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

I trudged home, arms held out, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to aid Belinda (the name I gave my new friend) would lead me to a network of city dwellers sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only transport for city pigeons but scans, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those moments of shared perplexity interrupted my desperate search for what to do after that. I phoned friends for suggestions and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

Boasting thousands of members, the group operates on an organic system: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will step forward to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own finely honed expertise, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on kindness.

Belinda was quickly assessed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and placed with a rehabber who would administer medication and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could receive the attention she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything remotely similar. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one fall from the sky into the grounds of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since died – one of several friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a major reason of what had made returning home so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “companion” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to look up at the heavens between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the assistance also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as simple, dirty or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave that in the lot and we’ll end its life.”

That? Not her. Although not expected to ever soar , she has taken to her newly grounded life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented sound, often prompted by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in adaptability and fortitude – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.