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Our aircraft pushed through wall after wall of icy precipitation during the approach into the city. A sense of dread filled me during the flight, only deepening as I walked through the arrivals hall. I resented coming back to the town where I had spent my youth, after residing on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a few days, I headed out to get a my hair cut. My mind was far away, lingering over an ocean, when I became aware of something strike the pavement. I looked down to see a pigeon on its back, sprawled, and trembling.

The crash occurred just as children were streaming out from the local grade school and so within moments a little crowd of little ones had gathered, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This ring of bemused faces peered down at the creature, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my anorak, bent down and scooped the pigeon inside it. “No problem, love, the nice man will take care of her!” exclaimed one mum with a sense of relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

I trudged home, arms held out, with the bird nestled inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to aid Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would direct me to a community of local residents devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for street birds but X-rays, recovery care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a small container for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of common bewilderment marked my hectic search for what to do after that. I phoned friends for guidance and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I stumbled upon a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to join.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an decentralized model: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a pleading post is created, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and placed with a rehabber who would give medication and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the tram across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the attention she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything remotely similar. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one fall from the sky into the grounds of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made coming back so painful.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to stare at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the hard times, workers on the assistance also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as stupid, unclean or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the lot and we’ll put it down.”

It? Not this bird. Although unlikely to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly land-based life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied coo, often caused by her favourite food, peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and strength – and I am eternally thankful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.