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The plane pushed through wall after wall of sleet on its descent into the city. A growing unease settled over me during the trip, only deepening as I walked through the airport. I was unhappy about having to be the town where I had grown up, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a short while, I went out to get a trim. My thoughts was miles away, lingering over an ocean, when I was startled by something smack into the pavement. I glanced down to see a bird on its side, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The crash took place just as kids were emerging from the local elementary school and so within minutes a little crowd of little ones had formed, surrounded by their mums and dads. This ring of bemused faces stared down at the creature, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more definitive: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I slipped off my coat, knelt down and scooped the pigeon up into it. “No problem, dear, the gentleman will help her!” said one mum with a audible relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, involuntarily, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird nestled inside the garment.

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to rescue the bird (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would guide me to a network of city dwellers giving up significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for street birds but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those periods of mutual bewilderment punctuated my hectic search for what to do after that. I called friends for advice and one suggested trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Over 3,000-strong, the group follows an organic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an ailing pigeon, a heartfelt post is made, then a comment section “evaluation” takes place. If the bird is considered in need of an scan, someone with a vet link can get it one; if it needs physio, a “rehabber” will step forward to foster the bird.

Carers each have their own highly developed skills, whether it’s mending broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city is powered solely by goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with brain trauma, likely a blow to the head, and matched with a rehabber who would provide pain relief and a course of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the tram across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could get the attention she deserved.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had resided in while away could claim anything even close. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one drop from the sky into the grounds of my high school. Again, children circled the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to safety.

The aforementioned friend has since died – one of a number of companions to lose their lives 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 tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Laborers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to stare at the sky between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as simple, diseased or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave it in the car park and we’ll end its life.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever soar , she has taken to her newly grounded life with grace in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each happy coo, often caused by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for unveiling for me a new dimension to the city I was familiar with.