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The plane forced its way through wall after wall of freezing rain during the approach into its destination. A growing unease settled over me during the flight, growing stronger as I walked through the terminal. I felt bitter over having to be the place where I had grown up, after residing on the other side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a few days, I went out to get a haircut. My mind was far away, back across an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something hit the ground. I glanced down to see a pigeon on its side, splayed out, and twitching.

The fall took place just as kids were filing out from the local elementary school and so within moments a little crowd of children had gathered, accompanied by their mums and dads. This ring of bemused faces stared down at the bird, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more definitive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my jacket, knelt down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “It’s okay, sweet, the gentleman will take care of her!” exclaimed one mother with a sigh of relief. I had been transformed into the emergency transport 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 nestled inside the coat.

I had no idea that my impromptu decision to medivac my feathered charge (the name I bestowed upon my avian patient) would lead me to a community of Mancunians sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only transport for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, convalescence, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, lined it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of shared bewilderment interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for advice and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an organic system: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is made, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a vet link can organize it; if it needs rehabilitation, 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 momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with brain trauma, likely a concussion, and placed with a rehabber who would give medication and a program of careful physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the attention she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After finding this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had called home while away could have anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my secondary school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since died – one of four friends to pass away in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a history as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to stare 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 seen as a sign of “despair”.

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

It? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has taken to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied sound, often caused by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in resilience and strength – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I believed I understood.