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Our aircraft pushed through layer after layer of icy precipitation as it landed into its destination. A sinking feeling settled over me during the flight, only deepening as I walked through the terminal. I felt bitter over coming back to the town where I had grown up, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a haircut. My thoughts was far away, focused on an ocean, when I became aware of something hit the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its side, sprawled, and convulsing.

The impact took place just as schoolchildren were filing out from the local primary school and so within a short time a small chorus of children had assembled, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This group of puzzled faces peered down at the bird, uncertain what to do or say. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my anorak, bent down and picked up the pigeon up into it. “No problem, sweet, the nice man will help her!” said one parent with a audible relief. I had become the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

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

I had no idea that my on-the-spot decision to rescue my feathered charge (the name I gave my new friend) would lead me to a web of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but X-rays, respite care, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I retrieved a small container for Belinda, lined it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those instances of common perplexity interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I phoned friends for suggestions and one suggested trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and submitted a request to join.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group follows an anarchic system: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a urgent post is created, then a comment section “assessment” follows. If the bird is deemed in need of an scan, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed skills, whether it’s setting broken wings or dressing wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on goodwill.

Belinda was quickly assessed with neurological problems, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would give comfort and a program of careful physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to plummet. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the care she needed.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this underground pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had lived in while away could claim anything comparable. It also struck 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 circled the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The individual has since passed away – one of several friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a history as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Miners started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an reason to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the economic downturn, workers on the assistance also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “idleness”.

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

That? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever fly again , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied sound, often elicited by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in perseverance and resilience – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I believed I understood.