🔗 Share this article

The plane forced its way through layer after layer of icy precipitation as it landed into the city. A sense of dread had accompanied me during the flight, only deepening as I walked through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about returning to the town where I had spent my youth, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a couple of days, I headed out to get a haircut. My mind was far away, focused on an sea, when I heard something strike the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a pigeon on its back, sprawled, and twitching.

The impact took place just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local grade school and so within minutes a small chorus of youngsters had formed, flanked by their mums and dads. This group of confused faces peered down at the creature, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my anorak, bent down and picked up the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the gentleman will look after her!” said one mum with a sigh of relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

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

Little did I know that my on-the-spot decision to aid the bird (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would lead me to a network of local residents sacrificing significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, convalescence, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found 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 bewilderment punctuated my frantic search for what to do after that. I phoned friends for advice and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group follows an anarchic method: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is deemed in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will step forward to foster the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would provide medication and a regimen of patient physio. We never found out exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could receive the care she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could have anything even close. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the grounds of my high school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made returning home so painful.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “emotional support” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an excuse to look up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as unintelligent, diseased or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the lot and we’ll end its life.”

That? Not our Belinda. Although improbable to ever soar , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied coo, often caused by her favourite food, peas, feels like a lesson in resilience and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.