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Our aircraft battled through wall after wall of sleet as it landed into its destination. A growing unease filled me during the journey, only deepening as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I resented having to be the place where I had spent my youth, 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 my hair cut. My mind was far away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I heard something strike the ground. I glanced down to see a bird on its side, sprawled, and trembling.

The crash took place just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local elementary school and so within a short time a group of little ones had gathered, flanked by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces peered down at the pigeon, uncertain what to do or say. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my anorak, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “No problem, dear, the nice man will take care of her!” exclaimed one mum with a audible relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just come down hard, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

I trudged home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to rescue the bird (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would lead me to a community of city dwellers sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but scans, recovery care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a small container for Belinda, placed inside 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 make brief contact.

Those moments of common perplexity punctuated my desperate search for what to do from there. I phoned friends for suggestions and one recommended trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an organic method: someone in Manchester stumbles across an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is made, then a comment section “triage” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabilitator” will step forward to foster the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated expertise, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a regimen of patient physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the care she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had called home while away could have anything remotely similar. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one drop from the sky into the playground of my high school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since been lost – 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 coming back so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to gaze up at the heavens between long shifts of darkness below. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

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

It? Not her. Although improbable to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied coo, often caused by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in resilience and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I was familiar with.