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T battled through layer after layer of sleet during the approach into Manchester. A sense of dread settled over me during the journey, growing stronger as I made my way through the terminal. I felt bitter over having to be the city where I had been raised, after living on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a few days, I headed out to get a my hair cut. My thoughts was far away, focused on an ocean, when I heard something smack into the sidewalk. I glanced down to see a bird on its side, splayed out, and twitching.

The fall occurred just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within minutes a little crowd of children had assembled, accompanied by their mothers and fathers. This ring of confused faces stared down at the bird, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more decisive: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an emergency service?” I slipped off my anorak, knelt down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the gentleman will help her!” exclaimed one mother with a sense of relief. I had been transformed into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just come down hard, unintentionally, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to rescue Belinda (the name I chose for my patient) would guide me to a network of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only rescue services for street birds but X-rays, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I retrieved a cardboard box for Belinda, prepared it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those instances of shared bewilderment interrupted my frantic search for what to do after that. I called friends for advice and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my surprise, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to participate.

A Grassroots Network

With a large membership, the group operates on an organic system: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is considered in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “rehabilitator” will offer to look after the bird.

Carers each have their own highly developed specialities, whether it’s setting broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, combined effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on kindness.

Belinda was rapidly diagnosed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and assigned to a rehabber who would give pain relief and a program of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could receive the care she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my hometown. I doubt any of the places I had resided in while away could boast anything even close. 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 secondary school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to security.

The individual has since died – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my exit from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a major reason of what had made returning home so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “companion” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to raise the birds because they gave them company and an reason to gaze up at the sky between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

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

It? Not her. Although unlikely to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly earthbound life with aplomb in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each satisfied call, often elicited by her favourite treat, frozen peas, 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.