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T pushed through wall after wall of sleet on its descent into the city. A sense of dread settled over me during the flight, intensifying as I walked through the terminal. I resented coming back to the city 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 few days, I ventured out to get a my hair cut. My thoughts was far away, back across an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something strike the ground. I looked down to see a pigeon on its side, sprawled, and convulsing.

The impact happened just as schoolchildren were emerging from the local grade school and so within minutes a little crowd of youngsters had assembled, accompanied by their parents. This circle of bemused faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Dad, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my anorak, crouched down and picked up the pigeon into it. “No problem, dear, the nice man will look after her!” remarked one mother with a sigh of relief. I had turned into the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just come down hard, against its will, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird tucked safely inside the jacket.

Little did I know that my on-the-spot decision to aid the bird (the name I bestowed upon my new friend) would lead me to a network of Mancunians devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but scans, respite care, and even “pigeon physio”.

I found a shoebox for Belinda, placed inside it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every half hour or so, I’d lift the lid just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those instances of common bewilderment punctuated my frantic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for advice and one proposed trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Boasting thousands of members, the group operates on an anarchic model: someone in Manchester stumbles across an ailing pigeon, a urgent post is created, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is considered in need of an examination, someone with a connection to a clinic can arrange it; if it needs physio, a “rehabilitator” will volunteer to care for the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed specialities, whether it’s mending broken wings or dressing wounds. Their tremendous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city depends completely on volunteerism.

Belinda was promptly diagnosed with neurological problems, likely a concussion, and placed with a rehabber who would give pain relief and a regimen of patient physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to fall from the sky. I assumed the role of pigeon ambulance once more, boarding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could receive the care she needed.

Rediscovering Home

After discovering this underground pigeon “NHS”, 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 dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one drop from the sky into the grounds of my high school. Again, children surrounded the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the nerve to rescue it and take it to safety.

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

A History of Comfort

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the certain regions. Laborers started to care for the birds because they gave them company and an opportunity to gaze up at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the assistance also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had contacted a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave that in the lot and we’ll put it down.”

That? Not her. Although not expected to ever soar , she has embraced her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each happy coo, often caused by her favourite food, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in resilience and fortitude – and I am forever grateful to her for revealing to me another side to the city I believed I understood.