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The plane battled through layer after layer of sleet during the approach into the city. A sinking feeling settled over me during the flight, growing stronger as I made my way through the airport. I felt bitter over coming back to the city where I had spent my youth, after residing on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a lifetime.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a my hair cut. My attention was miles away, focused on an vast expanse of water, when I was startled by something smack into the pavement. I gazed down to see a bird on its wings, splayed out, and twitching.

The fall occurred just as children were filing out from the local elementary school and so within a short time a little crowd of youngsters had assembled, surrounded by their mothers and fathers. This group of puzzled faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more certain: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my jacket, knelt down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “Don’t worry, dear, the kind man will take care of her!” exclaimed one mum with a audible relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

I had no idea that my impromptu decision to aid the bird (the name I chose for my new friend) would guide me to a network of Mancunians giving up significant amounts of effort to provide not only transport for street birds but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every short while, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of mutual bewilderment marked my hectic search for what to do after that. I called friends for guidance and one proposed trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and put in a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group follows an organic method: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “triage” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will step forward to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated specialities, whether it’s repairing broken wings or dressing wounds. Their significant, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would give comfort and a regimen of gentle physio. We never found out exactly what made her to drop from above. I took up 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 obtain the treatment she required.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could boast 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 plummet from the sky into the grounds of my high school. Again, children circled 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 several friends to lose their lives in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the Depression, workers on the assistance also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as unintelligent, diseased or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave it in the lot and we’ll put it down.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has taken to her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied sound, often caused by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a lesson in perseverance and fortitude – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me another side to the city I believed I understood.