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The plane forced its way through successive sheets of icy precipitation during the approach into its destination. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the trip, only deepening as I walked through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had spent my youth, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a short while, I headed out to get a haircut. My attention was miles away, lingering over an sea, when I heard something hit the pavement. I gazed down to see a bird on its back, splayed out, and twitching.

The fall took place just as children were emerging from the local primary school and so within a short time a group of children had gathered, flanked by their parents. This circle of puzzled faces looked down at the bird, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my coat, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, dear, the kind man will take care of her!” said one mum with a audible relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms held out, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

Little did I know that my on-the-spot decision to aid my feathered charge (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would direct me to a community of local residents giving up significant amounts of their time to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but scans, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a small container for Belinda, placed inside it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those periods of shared confusion marked my hectic search for what to do next. I called friends for guidance and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group operates on an anarchic model: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is deemed in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will step forward to care for the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would give medication and a program of patient physio. We never found out exactly what made her to drop from above. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the care she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had called home while away could claim 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 witnessed one drop from the sky into the playground of my secondary school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the gall to rescue it and take it to a safe place.

The friend in question has since died – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

A History of Comfort

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

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, diseased or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not her. Although improbable to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a lesson in perseverance and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.