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Our aircraft forced its way through layer after layer of freezing rain as it landed into the city. A sense of dread filled me during the flight, only deepening as I shuffled through the airport. I was unhappy about having to be the city where I had grown up, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a short while, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My mind was distant, back across an vast expanse of water, when I heard something smack into the ground. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its wings, sprawled, and twitching.

The fall happened just as kids were streaming out from the local grade school and so within a short time a group of children had assembled, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This group of confused faces looked down at the bird, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my coat, crouched down and scooped the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, dear, the kind man will look after her!” said one mother with a sense of relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to medivac my feathered charge (the name I gave my avian patient) would lead me to a web of local residents devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, recovery care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those instances of mutual perplexity interrupted my frantic search for what to do after that. I contacted friends for advice and one proposed trying online groups, where, to my amazement, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and sent a request to become a member.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group has an anarchic system: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “triage” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabilitator” will step forward to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated expertise, whether it’s mending broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on kindness.

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a blow to the head, and assigned to a rehabber who would give comfort and a course of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to drop from above. I resumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the care she deserved.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my city. I question any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything comparable. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one drop from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to scoop it up and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of four friends to lose their lives in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a significant factor of what had made returning home so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an excuse to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as unintelligent, unclean or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave that in the lot and we’ll put it down.”

The bird? Not her. Although improbable to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented coo, often prompted by her favourite food, peas, feels like a example in resilience and fortitude – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I believed I understood.