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T pushed through successive sheets of sleet as it landed into its destination. A growing unease had accompanied me during the flight, only deepening as I shuffled through the airport. I was unhappy about returning to the place where I had spent my youth, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I ventured out to get a haircut. My thoughts was miles away, lingering over an sea, when I was startled by something hit the pavement. I looked down to see a bird on its wings, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The fall took place just as children were emerging from the local elementary school and so within minutes a group of children had gathered, surrounded by their parents. This circle of bemused faces stared down at the creature, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more certain: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my anorak, knelt down and scooped the pigeon inside it. “No problem, love, the kind man will take care of her!” said one parent with a sense of relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, unintentionally, as I had a few days before.

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

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my patient) would lead me to a community of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but X-rays, convalescence, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a small container for Belinda, lined 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 awkwardly lock eyes.

Those instances of common perplexity interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I phoned friends for suggestions and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I found a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group has an decentralized system: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will volunteer to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed expertise, whether it’s setting broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was promptly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would provide pain relief and a regimen of gentle physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I resumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the attention she deserved.

A New Perspective

After discovering this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one plummet from the sky into the schoolyard 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 died – one of a number of companions to lose their lives in the years before my exit from Manchester. I realised that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to gaze up at the heavens between long shifts of darkness below. During the Depression, workers on the dole also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

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

The bird? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with grace in a volunteer’s home. Each contented sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a example in perseverance and fortitude – and I am always appreciative to her for showing me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.