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T forced its way through layer after layer of sleet during the approach into its destination. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, growing stronger as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over having to be the place where I had grown up, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a few days, I ventured out to get a trim. My thoughts was distant, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something hit the sidewalk. I looked down to see a rock dove on its back, splayed out, and convulsing.

The crash occurred just as kids were filing out from the local grade school and so within moments a group of little ones had gathered, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This ring of confused faces stared down at the creature, uncertain what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my coat, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, love, the kind man will look after her!” said one parent with a audible relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

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

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to aid my feathered charge (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would guide me to a network of local residents giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only transport for feral pigeons but scans, recovery 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 share a momentary glance.

Those moments of shared confusion punctuated my frantic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for advice and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to participate.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group has an organic method: someone in Manchester stumbles across an injured pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a vet link can organize it; if it needs physio, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s mending broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was quickly assessed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and placed with a rehabber who would provide comfort and a course of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what made her to drop from above. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the attention she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could claim anything even close. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the schoolyard of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to rescue it and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made the return so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an excuse to look up at the heavens between long shifts of underground work. During the Depression, workers on the assistance also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as unintelligent, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave that in the car park and we’ll end its life.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each contented sound, often prompted by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a lesson in perseverance and fortitude – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.