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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of freezing rain on its descent into its destination. A sense of dread settled over me during the flight, intensifying as I shuffled through the airport. I was unhappy about returning to the town where I had been raised, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a few days, I ventured out to get a trim. My thoughts was miles away, lingering over an sea, when I heard something hit the pavement. I looked down to see a pigeon on its side, spatchcocked, and trembling.

The impact took place just as children were filing out from the local elementary school and so within moments a group of little ones had gathered, accompanied by their mums and dads. This group of confused faces stared down at the pigeon, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my anorak, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, love, the kind man will look after her!” remarked one mum with a sense of relief. I had become the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to medivac the bird (the name I gave my avian patient) would guide me to a web of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only transport for street birds but scans, respite care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, placed inside it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those instances of common perplexity marked my frantic search for what to do next. I called friends for advice and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group follows an decentralized system: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will volunteer to foster the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s mending broken wings or treating wounds. Their significant, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would provide medication and a regimen of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to plummet. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, boarding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the treatment she needed.

A New Perspective

After discovering this underground pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could have anything remotely similar. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one fall from the sky into the grounds of my old school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the nerve to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I realised that this had been a big part of what had made returning home so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to look up at the sky between long shifts of darkness below. During the Depression, workers on the unemployment also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as unintelligent, unclean or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not her. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented coo, often elicited by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a example in perseverance and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.