🔗 Share this article

The plane battled through layer after layer of icy precipitation as it landed into its destination. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the trip, intensifying as I walked through the terminal. I resented coming back 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 age.

After a short while, I went out to get a trim. My mind was miles away, back across an ocean, when I became aware of something smack into the ground. I gazed down to see a pigeon on its wings, sprawled, and convulsing.

The crash happened just as kids were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within a short time a little crowd of little ones had assembled, surrounded by their mums and dads. This group of confused faces peered down at the bird, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs hospital, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my jacket, crouched down and scooped the pigeon inside it. “Don’t worry, sweet, the nice man will help her!” remarked one mother with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to aid the bird (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would lead me to a network of Mancunians sacrificing significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but scans, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, lined it with an old piece of cloth, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to share a momentary glance.

Those moments of shared bewilderment interrupted my frantic search for what to do from there. I called friends for suggestions and one recommended trying online groups, where, to my amazement, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and sent a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group operates on an anarchic system: someone in Manchester stumbles across an injured pigeon, a heartfelt post is created, then a comment section “assessment” follows. If the bird is deemed in need of an examination, someone with a veterinary contact can organize it; if it needs therapy, a “rehabber” will step forward to foster the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed skills, whether it’s setting broken wings or treating wounds. Their momentous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a head injury, and matched with a rehabber who would administer pain relief and a regimen of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of avian courier once more, boarding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a box on my lap so she could get the care she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this underground pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I doubt any of the places I had called home while away could claim anything remotely similar. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon recovery: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to pick it up and take it to security.

The individual has since been lost – one of a number of companions to pass away in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a big part of what had made the return so hard.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the North. Miners started to raise the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of darkness below. During the Depression, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “social malaise”.

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

It? Not our Belinda. Although unlikely to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied coo, often elicited by her favourite snack, frozen peas, feels like a example in resilience and fortitude – and I am eternally thankful to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.