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The plane battled through layer after layer of sleet as it landed into Manchester. A sinking feeling filled me during the trip, only deepening as I made my way through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about returning to the place where I had been raised, after living 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 my hair cut. My mind was distant, back across an ocean, when I became aware of something smack into the sidewalk. I looked down to see a rock dove on its side, splayed out, and convulsing.

The impact took place just as kids were filing out from the local grade school and so within minutes a little crowd of little ones had assembled, surrounded by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces looked down at the pigeon, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I took off my jacket, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “No problem, love, the kind man will help her!” exclaimed one mother with a sigh of relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just come down hard, unintentionally, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to rescue the bird (the name I chose for my new friend) would lead me to a network of local residents devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but scans, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I retrieved a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those periods of common perplexity interrupted my hectic search for what to do from there. I phoned friends for advice and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and put in a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group operates on an decentralized system: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is deemed in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs physio, a “carer” will offer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed skills, whether it’s setting broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their significant, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would provide pain relief and a course of patient physio. We never learned exactly what made her to drop from above. I took up the role of avian courier once more, riding the tram across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the treatment she required.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything even close. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the nerve to scoop it up and take it to security.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of several friends to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I realised that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the Depression, workers on the assistance also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

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

It? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has embraced her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each happy call, often caused by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and fortitude – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.