🔗 Share this article

Our aircraft pushed through successive sheets of sleet on its descent into the city. A sinking feeling settled over me during the flight, only deepening as I made my way through the terminal. I was unhappy about having to be the place where I had grown up, after making a home on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a short while, I went out to get a trim. My thoughts was distant, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something hit the ground. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its back, splayed out, and convulsing.

The fall occurred just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local grade school and so within a short time a small chorus of little ones had assembled, flanked by their parents. This group of bemused faces stared down at the bird, uncertain what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I slipped off my jacket, crouched down and scooped the pigeon into it. “It’s okay, sweet, the kind man will look after her!” exclaimed one mum with a audible relief. I had become the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms held out, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my spontaneous decision to rescue my feathered charge (the name I chose for my avian patient) would direct me to a web of city dwellers sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only ambulances for street birds but diagnostic imaging, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a small container for Belinda, prepared it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those periods of shared confusion punctuated my hectic search for what to do from there. I called friends for advice and one recommended trying online groups, where, to my amazement, I stumbled upon a local pigeon rescue group, and put in a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an decentralized system: someone in Manchester discovers an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is created, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will volunteer to care for the bird.

Carers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by kindness.

Belinda was promptly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would provide medication and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I resumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the attention she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After finding this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could boast anything even close. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one fall from the sky into the grounds of my secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the courage to pick it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of a number of companions to pass away in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made the return so painful.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a history as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an reason to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as simple, unclean 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 parking lot and we’ll put it down.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly earthbound life with grace in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied coo, often prompted by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a demonstration in perseverance and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.