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The plane pushed through layer after layer of sleet on its descent into Manchester. A growing unease had accompanied me during the trip, growing stronger as I shuffled through the terminal. I was unhappy about returning to the city where I had grown up, after residing on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I headed out to get a haircut. My mind was distant, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something smack into the ground. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its back, spatchcocked, and trembling.

The fall occurred just as children were filing out from the local grade school and so within a short time a group of children had gathered, surrounded by their mums and dads. This group of confused faces peered down at the creature, uncertain what to think or act. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my jacket, crouched down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, dear, the gentleman will take care of her!” remarked one mother with a audible relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the coat.

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to medivac the bird (the name I chose for my avian patient) would direct me to a community of local residents sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only ambulances for street birds but diagnostic imaging, recovery care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I located a shoebox for Belinda, prepared 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 make brief contact.

Those instances of mutual perplexity marked my hectic search for what to do after that. I contacted friends for suggestions and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an anarchic method: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their tremendous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would give medication and a course of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I took up the role of avian courier once more, taking the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the attention she required.

Rediscovering Home

After finding this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much better about being back in my home town. I doubt any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything even close. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one plummet 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 nerve to scoop it up and take it to security.

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

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “companion” animals, especially in the certain regions. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an excuse to stare at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the Depression, workers on the dole also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as simple, diseased or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave that in the car park and we’ll end its life.”

That? Not this bird. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly land-based life with success in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented coo, often caused by her favourite food, peas, feels like a example in perseverance and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me another side to the city I thought I knew.