🔗 Share this article

The plane pushed through successive sheets of icy precipitation on its descent into Manchester. A growing unease had accompanied me during the journey, intensifying as I walked through the arrivals hall. I resented returning to the town where I had spent my youth, after living on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a haircut. My mind was far away, focused on an sea, when I became aware of something smack into the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a rock dove on its back, sprawled, and twitching.

The crash happened just as children were filing out from the local elementary school and so within moments a group of children had assembled, flanked by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces peered down at the creature, unsure what to think or act. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I removed my jacket, knelt down and scooped the pigeon into it. “No problem, sweet, the nice man will help her!” remarked one parent with a sense of relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, unintentionally, as I had a few days before.

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

Little did I know that my impromptu decision to medivac Belinda (the name I chose for my avian patient) would direct me to a network of Mancunians sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only transport for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a small container 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 shared perplexity punctuated my hectic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for advice and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and submitted a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group follows an anarchic method: someone in Manchester stumbles across an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can arrange it; if it needs physio, a “carer” will offer to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s mending broken wings or treating wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and assigned to a rehabber who would give medication and a program of patient physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of bird taxi once more, riding the tram across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could receive the care she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After finding this secret pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had called home while away could boast anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to a safe place.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a major reason of what had made the return so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a history as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to look up at the sky between long shifts of darkness below. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered 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 vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the car park and we’ll end its life.”

The bird? Not her. Although unlikely to ever fly again , she has taken to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied sound, often prompted by her favourite food, frozen peas, feels like a example in adaptability and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for unveiling for me another side to the city I was familiar with.