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The plane pushed through successive sheets of icy precipitation on its descent into its destination. A sinking feeling filled me during the trip, only deepening as I shuffled through the terminal. I felt bitter over having to be the city where I had spent my youth, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I went out to get a trim. My attention was distant, back across an vast expanse of water, when I heard something smack into the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a bird on its wings, sprawled, and trembling.

The crash took place just as kids were filing out from the local primary school and so within minutes a little crowd of little ones had gathered, surrounded by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces looked down at the creature, unsure what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my anorak, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “No problem, dear, the gentleman will look after her!” remarked one mum with a sense of relief. I had turned into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird nestled inside the garment.

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to medivac my feathered charge (the name I chose for my patient) would direct me to a network of city dwellers giving up significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I located a small container for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those instances of shared confusion interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for advice and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group follows an anarchic method: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “triage” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can organize it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “carer” will step forward to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would provide comfort and a regimen of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I took up the role of avian courier once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the treatment she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything remotely similar. 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 witnessed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my secondary school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to security.

The friend in question has since died – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to look up at the heavens between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “idleness”.

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

It? Not her. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy sound, often elicited by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in resilience and strength – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I believed I understood.