A Moment That Transformed My Life: A Dove Plummeted From the Heavens – Directing Me to a Secret Underground Aid Organization

T battled through layer after layer of sleet during the approach into its destination. A sense of dread settled over me during the trip, only deepening as I shuffled through the arrivals hall. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had spent my youth, after making a home on the opposite end of the world for what had felt like a an eternity.

After a few days, I went out to get a my hair cut. My mind was distant, lingering over an ocean, when I became aware of something strike the sidewalk. I looked down to see a bird on its side, sprawled, and twitching.

The impact took place just as kids were emerging from the local primary school and so within a short time a little crowd of children had assembled, flanked by their mums and dads. This group of confused faces looked down at the bird, not knowing what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Papa, she needs help, can we call an emergency service?” I took off my anorak, knelt down and picked up the pigeon into it. “No problem, dear, the kind man will take care of her!” exclaimed one parent with a audible relief. I had turned into the rescue vehicle for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, unintentionally, as I had a couple of days prior.

I walked slowly home, arms held out, with the bird nestled inside the coat.

I had no idea that my spontaneous decision to rescue the bird (the name I gave my new friend) would guide me to a network of city dwellers giving up significant amounts of time to provide not only ambulances for city pigeons but X-rays, recovery care, and even “bird rehabilitation”.

I located a cardboard box for Belinda, placed inside it with an old shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to make brief contact.

Those instances of mutual bewilderment interrupted my desperate search for what to do after that. I called friends for suggestions and one suggested trying social media, where, to my astonishment, I found a bird rehabilitation group, and put in a request to become a member.

A Community Effort

Boasting thousands of members, the group follows an anarchic model: someone in Manchester finds an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is created, then a comment section “assessment” takes place. If the bird is judged in need of an scan, someone with a connection to a clinic can organize it; if it needs rehabilitation, a “rehabilitator” will step forward to look after the bird.

Rehabbers each have their own finely honed skills, whether it’s mending broken wings or treating wounds. Their significant, combined effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on kindness.

Belinda was promptly assessed with neurological problems, likely a blow to the head, and matched with a rehabber who would administer medication and a regimen of gentle physio. We never discovered exactly what made her to drop from above. I resumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a container on my lap so she could receive the care she deserved.

An Unexpected Lesson

After discovering this underground pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much better about being back in my city. I am skeptical any of the places I had called home while away could have anything remotely similar. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been part of a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one drop 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 nerve to pick it up and take it to security.

The aforementioned friend has since been lost – one of four friends to die in the years before my leaving from Manchester. I realised that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a longstanding role as “therapy” animals, especially in the north of England. Miners started to keep the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to gaze up at the heavens between long shifts of underground work. During the hard times, workers on the dole also found solace in pigeons, but keeping them was considered a sign of “idleness”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often dismissed as simple, unclean or a general nuisance. Before finding the rehab group, I had spoken to a vet, who told me: “if you bring that here, leave it in the lot and we’ll end its life.”

The bird? Not our Belinda. Although improbable to ever take to the skies , she has adapted to her newly earthbound life with success in a volunteer’s spare bedroom. Each contented coo, often elicited by her favourite treat, vegetables, feels like a demonstration in adaptability and strength – and I am always appreciative to her for revealing to me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.