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The plane battled through wall after wall of icy precipitation during the approach into its destination. A growing unease had accompanied me during the flight, only deepening as I walked through the airport. I was unhappy about having to be the town where I had grown up, after residing on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I went out to get a my hair cut. My mind was miles away, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something smack into the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its side, splayed out, and twitching.

The impact occurred just as children were emerging from the local grade school and so within moments a group of youngsters had assembled, accompanied by their mums and dads. This ring of puzzled faces stared down at the creature, unsure what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my coat, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the kind man will take care of her!” said one mum with a sigh of relief. I had become the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, involuntarily, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to rescue the bird (the name I chose for my patient) would direct me to a community of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only transport for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I retrieved a small container for Belinda, lined it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of common bewilderment marked my frantic search for what to do next. I called friends for guidance and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my surprise, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and submitted a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an decentralized method: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a urgent post is created, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs physio, a “carer” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or treating wounds. Their tremendous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by kindness.

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and placed with a rehabber who would administer medication and a program of patient physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the attention she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything even close. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one drop from the sky into the playground of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to rescue it and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of a number of companions to lose their lives in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I realised that this had been a major reason of what had made returning home so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Miners started to raise the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to stare at the heavens between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as simple, diseased or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the car park and we’ll put it down.”

It? Not her. Although not expected to ever soar , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy sound, often prompted by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a example in perseverance and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me another side to the city I was familiar with.