An Experience That Changed My Life: A Pigeon Fell From the Heavens – Guiding Me to a Secret Underground Salvation Group

The plane pushed through wall after wall of freezing rain as it landed into Manchester. A sinking feeling filled me during the trip, growing stronger as I made my way through the airport. I felt bitter over coming back to the town where I had grown up, after making a home on the other side of the world for what had felt like a an age.

After a couple of days, I went out to get a my hair cut. My mind was miles away, focused on an sea, when I was startled by something strike the sidewalk. I gazed down to see a pigeon on its back, splayed out, and convulsing.

The crash happened just as schoolchildren were streaming out from the local elementary school and so within a short time a group of children had formed, flanked by their parents. This circle of confused faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to do or say. The kids were more decisive: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my anorak, crouched down and picked up the pigeon into it. “It’s okay, love, the gentleman will take care of her!” said one parent with a sigh of relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I trudged home, arms held out, with the bird nestled inside the jacket.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to aid Belinda (the name I chose for my new friend) would lead me to a network of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but diagnostic imaging, respite care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I found a small container for Belinda, lined 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 mutual perplexity punctuated my hectic search for what to do after that. I called friends for advice and one proposed trying social media, where, to my surprise, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and submitted a request to participate.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group has an decentralized model: someone in Manchester discovers an hurt pigeon, a heartfelt post is published, 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 get it one; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabilitator” will offer to foster the bird.

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

Belinda was quickly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would give comfort and a program of gentle physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I resumed the role of bird taxi once more, taking the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the treatment she deserved.

A New Perspective

After stumbling across this underground pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much more positive about being back in my hometown. I am skeptical any of the places I had called home while away could have anything comparable. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been connected to a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d witnessed one plummet from the sky into the playground of my high school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my closest friend at the time – had the courage to rescue it and take it to a safe place.

The individual has since died – one of several friends to pass away in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so hard.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the certain regions. Miners started to keep the birds because they gave them solace and an opportunity to stare at the sky between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the assistance also found comfort in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as stupid, diseased or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave it in the parking lot and we’ll end its life.”

The bird? Not this bird. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly land-based life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each contented sound, often prompted by her favourite snack, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in perseverance and strength – and I am eternally thankful to her for showing me a different facet to the city I believed I understood.