🔗 Share this article

The plane forced its way through successive sheets of icy precipitation during the approach into Manchester. A growing unease settled over me during the flight, only deepening as I made my way through the terminal. I felt bitter over coming back to the town where I had spent my youth, after residing on the far side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I headed out to get a trim. My mind was miles away, focused on an ocean, when I became aware of something smack into the pavement. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its back, sprawled, and convulsing.

The crash happened just as kids were filing out from the local primary school and so within moments a little crowd of little ones had gathered, flanked by their mothers and fathers. This group of bemused faces stared down at the bird, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more definitive: “Papa, she needs a vet, can we call an animal ambulance?” I took off my jacket, bent down and gently lifted the pigeon into it. “No problem, dear, the gentleman will take care of her!” said one mother with a sense of relief. I had become the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, involuntarily, as I had a few days before.

I walked slowly home, arms stiffly extended, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

I had no idea that my impromptu decision to rescue my feathered charge (the name I chose for my new friend) would direct me to a community of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of effort to provide not only ambulances for feral pigeons but diagnostic imaging, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, placed inside it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d peek inside just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those moments of shared confusion marked my hectic search for what to do from there. I contacted friends for guidance and one proposed trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an organic model: someone in Manchester finds an hurt pigeon, a urgent post is made, then a comment section “triage” ensues. If the bird is deemed in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabber” will volunteer to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed skills, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their tremendous, cooperative effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and placed with a rehabber who would administer comfort and a regimen of patient physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I assumed the role of avian courier once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could obtain the treatment she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “support system”, I began to feel much better about being back in my home town. I question any of the places I had called home while away could claim anything comparable. It also struck me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one plummet from the sky into the schoolyard of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the nerve to scoop it up and take it to a safe place.

The aforementioned friend has since passed away – one of a number of companions to pass away in the years before my exit from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made the return so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to look up at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the Depression, workers on the unemployment also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “despair”.

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

It? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever soar , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with success in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented sound, often prompted by her favourite treat, frozen peas, feels like a example in perseverance and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for showing me a new dimension to the city I thought I knew.