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T pushed through successive sheets of sleet as it landed into its destination. A sinking feeling filled me during the journey, only deepening as I walked through the airport. I resented coming back to the place where I had grown up, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a short while, I went out to get a my hair cut. My mind was miles away, lingering over an sea, when I heard something strike the ground. I looked down to see a bird on its wings, sprawled, and convulsing.

The crash occurred just as children were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within a short time a little crowd of little ones had assembled, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This ring of puzzled faces stared down at the creature, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my anorak, crouched down and gently lifted the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, love, the gentleman will help her!” remarked one mother with a audible relief. I had turned into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just come down hard, involuntarily, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird nestled inside the garment.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to medivac the bird (the name I gave my new friend) would direct me to a web of local residents giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but scans, respite care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I retrieved a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, 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 mutual perplexity interrupted my hectic search for what to do next. I called friends for advice and one proposed trying social media, where, to my amazement, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

Boasting thousands of members, the group has an anarchic method: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a vet link can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will volunteer to care for the bird.

Volunteers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would give comfort and a regimen of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the care she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this hidden pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I doubt any of the places I had called home while away could boast anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen 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 nerve to pick it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of four friends to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a significant factor of what had made returning home so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an excuse to stare at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “idleness”.

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

It? Not our Belinda. Although improbable to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each contented call, often caused by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a lesson in resilience and resilience – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.