🔗 Share this article

Our aircraft forced its way through wall after wall of sleet on its descent into its destination. A growing unease settled over me during the journey, only deepening as I walked through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about coming back to the place where I had grown up, after living on the other side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a short while, I ventured out to get a trim. My mind was miles away, focused on an ocean, when I heard something hit the pavement. I looked down to see a bird on its back, sprawled, and convulsing.

The fall occurred just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local elementary school and so within a short time a little crowd of little ones had gathered, accompanied by their parents. This circle of bemused faces stared down at the pigeon, unsure what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I removed my anorak, bent down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, dear, the kind man will take care of her!” remarked one mother with a sense of relief. I had turned into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I trudged home, arms held out, with the bird curled up inside the garment.

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to rescue the bird (the name I chose for my patient) would lead me to a web of local residents giving up significant amounts of effort to provide not only transport for street birds but scans, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of mutual confusion punctuated my hectic search for what to do next. I contacted friends for advice and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I found a local pigeon rescue group, and put in a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an anarchic model: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “triage” follows. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will offer to care for the bird.

Volunteers each have their own carefully cultivated specialities, whether it’s repairing broken wings or dressing wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was quickly assessed with brain trauma, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would give comfort and a program of patient physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, taking the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could receive the treatment she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could have anything even close. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one drop from the sky into the schoolyard of my secondary school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The individual has since died – one of several friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so hard.

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the Depression, workers on the dole also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as stupid, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave that in the parking lot and we’ll put it down.”

The bird? Not this bird. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has taken to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each satisfied coo, often prompted by her favourite food, frozen peas, feels like a lesson in resilience and strength – and I am eternally thankful to her for revealing to me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.