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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of icy precipitation on its descent into its destination. A sense of dread settled over me during the journey, only deepening as I walked through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about coming back to the city where I had grown up, after living on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I went out to get a trim. My attention was distant, focused on an ocean, when I heard something hit the sidewalk. I looked down to see a rock dove on its back, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The fall took place just as children were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within moments a small chorus of little ones had gathered, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This group of bemused faces stared down at the bird, unsure what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I removed my jacket, bent down and picked up the pigeon into it. “No problem, sweet, the gentleman will look after her!” exclaimed one parent with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird nestled inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to medivac Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would guide me to a network of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those instances of mutual bewilderment interrupted my frantic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for guidance and one proposed trying social media, where, to my amazement, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and sent a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an organic model: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is deemed in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will offer to care for the bird.

Volunteers each have their own finely honed expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by kindness.

Belinda was quickly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would provide medication and a regimen of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could obtain the treatment she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had called home while away could have anything remotely similar. 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 observed one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since passed away – one of several friends to lose their lives in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I realised that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Miners started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the Depression, workers on the assistance also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as unintelligent, diseased 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 car park and we’ll end its life.”

The bird? Not her. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has taken to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented call, often prompted by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in adaptability and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.