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Our aircraft battled through wall after wall of freezing rain on its descent into Manchester. A sinking feeling filled me during the journey, only deepening as I shuffled through the airport. I resented returning to the town where I had grown up, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I ventured out to get a haircut. My mind was far away, back across an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something smack into the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its wings, sprawled, and trembling.

The fall happened just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within minutes a small chorus of little ones had formed, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This circle of puzzled faces peered down at the creature, unsure what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my anorak, bent down and picked up the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the gentleman will help her!” remarked one parent with a sense of relief. I had been transformed into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to medivac Belinda (the name I chose for my avian patient) would direct me to a web of local residents sacrificing significant amounts of effort to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but X-rays, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d open the box just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those instances of common confusion interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for guidance and one recommended trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to join.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group operates on an decentralized method: someone in Manchester stumbles across an ailing pigeon, a urgent post is made, then a comment section “assessment” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will step forward to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s mending broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly assessed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would give pain relief and a program of patient physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to plummet. I resumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the attention she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to safety.

The individual has since been lost – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my departure from Manchester. I realised that this had been a big part of what had made coming back so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to look up at the heavens between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the assistance also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as stupid, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave it in the lot and we’ll end its life.”

That? Not her. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with success in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented coo, often elicited by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in perseverance and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.