🔗 Share this article

The plane battled through wall after wall of freezing rain on its descent into the city. A sinking feeling filled me during the journey, intensifying as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I was unhappy about 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 ventured out to get a haircut. My mind was distant, focused on an sea, when I was startled by something smack into the pavement. I gazed down to see a bird on its back, splayed out, and twitching.

The crash occurred just as schoolchildren were filing out from the local grade school and so within minutes a small chorus of children had gathered, surrounded by their mothers and fathers. This group of confused faces looked down at the bird, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an ambulance?” I took off my jacket, crouched down and picked up the pigeon into it. “No problem, love, the gentleman will look after her!” exclaimed one mum with a sigh of relief. I had turned into the ambulance for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a short time earlier.

I made my way home, arms held out, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Little did I know that my impromptu decision to aid Belinda (the name I gave my new friend) would direct me to a network of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only rescue services for feral pigeons but scans, respite care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I retrieved a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those periods of shared perplexity punctuated my desperate search for what to do from there. I called friends for guidance and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my amazement, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

With a large membership, the group has an decentralized system: someone in Manchester discovers an injured pigeon, a urgent post is published, then a comment section “evaluation” ensues. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs physio, a “carer” will step forward to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own carefully cultivated skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and assigned to a rehabber who would administer medication and a program of patient physio. We never learned exactly what made her to drop from above. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the attention she deserved.

Rediscovering Home

After stumbling across this secret pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had lived 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 observed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to pick it up and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since died – one of a number of companions to lose their lives in the years before my departure from Manchester. I realised that this had been a big part of what had made the return so difficult.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “companion” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them company and an reason to look up at the open air between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often disparaged as simple, dirty or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a vet, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave it in the car park and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not this bird. Although unlikely to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each satisfied coo, often prompted by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a lesson in adaptability and resilience – and I am forever grateful to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I believed I understood.