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T forced its way through layer after layer of freezing rain during the approach into its destination. A sinking feeling settled over me during the journey, growing stronger as I made my way through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about having to be the town where I had been raised, after making a home on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a short while, I headed out to get a trim. My thoughts was distant, back across an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something strike the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a pigeon on its wings, spatchcocked, and convulsing.

The crash occurred just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local grade school and so within moments a group of little ones had gathered, surrounded by their mothers and fathers. This ring of puzzled faces stared down at the bird, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my coat, crouched down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the nice man will take care of her!” said one mum with a sense of relief. I had been transformed into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

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 medivac Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would lead me to a community of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only ambulances for street birds but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those moments of shared confusion interrupted my hectic search for what to do from there. I phoned friends for suggestions and one proposed trying Facebook, where, to my astonishment, I stumbled upon a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and sent a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group follows an anarchic system: someone in Manchester finds an injured pigeon, a pleading post is published, then a comment section “triage” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will step forward to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own carefully cultivated expertise, whether it’s setting broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a program of careful physio. We never found out exactly what made her to plummet. I assumed the role of bird taxi once more, taking the tram across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the treatment she required.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything comparable. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one fall from the sky into the playground of my old 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 safety.

The friend in question has since passed away – one of several friends to pass away in the years before my exit from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an excuse to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, dirty or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a animal doctor, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

That? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has embraced her newly land-based life with grace in a volunteer’s extra room. Each happy call, often elicited by her favourite food, peas, feels like a example in resilience and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me another side to the city I was familiar with.