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Our aircraft pushed through wall after wall of sleet on its descent into its destination. A sinking feeling settled over me during the flight, growing stronger as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over having to be the place where I had been raised, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My mind was miles away, lingering over an sea, when I was startled by something smack into the sidewalk. I looked down to see a bird on its back, splayed out, and trembling.

The impact took place just as kids were filing out from the local elementary school and so within a short time a little crowd of youngsters had assembled, surrounded by their mothers and fathers. This circle of bemused faces looked down at the bird, unsure what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I slipped off my jacket, crouched down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, dear, the gentleman will take care of her!” exclaimed one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

I trudged home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my on-the-spot decision to rescue Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would guide me to a web of local residents devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for street birds but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those periods of mutual perplexity marked my hectic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for suggestions and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an organic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “evaluation” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will offer to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and matched with a rehabber who would administer medication and a course of patient physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, taking the tram across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the attention she required.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I doubt any of the places I had called home while away could claim anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my high school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of four friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I realised that this had been a big part of what had made coming back so painful.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to raise the birds because they gave them solace and an reason to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, 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 simple, unclean or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a animal doctor, 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 taken to her newly earthbound life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied coo, often caused by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a lesson in adaptability and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.