An Experience That Altered My Life: A Dove Dropped From the Heavens – Directing Me to a Covert Undercover Aid Organization

The plane battled through layer after layer of sleet during the approach into its destination. A sinking feeling had accompanied me during the journey, growing stronger as I walked through the airport. I felt bitter over having to be the town where I had grown up, after living on the other 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, lingering over an vast expanse of water, when I became aware of something hit the ground. I gazed down to see a pigeon on its back, spatchcocked, and trembling.

The crash took place just as children were streaming out from the local primary school and so within minutes a group of youngsters had gathered, flanked by their mums and dads. This ring of bemused faces looked down at the creature, not knowing what to think or act. The kids were more definitive: “Daddy, she needs a vet, can we call an ambulance?” I removed my anorak, bent down and picked up the pigeon inside it. “It’s okay, sweet, the kind man will help her!” remarked one mother with a audible relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just landed abruptly, unintentionally, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms ramrod straight, with the bird curled up inside the coat.

Unbeknownst to me that my impromptu decision to medivac Belinda (the name I bestowed upon my patient) would direct me to a network of city dwellers devoting significant amounts of their time to provide not only rescue services for city pigeons but scans, convalescence, and even “pigeon physio”.

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

Those instances of shared perplexity punctuated my hectic search for what to do after that. I phoned friends for suggestions and one suggested trying online groups, where, to my astonishment, I discovered a Manchester Pigeon Rehab group, and put in a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

With a large membership, the group operates on an decentralized method: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is created, then a comment section “assessment” ensues. If the bird is judged in need of an X-ray, someone with a veterinary contact can get it one; if it needs physio, a “carer” will step forward to look after the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s setting broken wings or dressing wounds. Their momentous, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on goodwill.

Belinda was promptly assessed with brain trauma, likely a blow to the head, and matched with a rehabber who would provide comfort and a program of patient physio. We never found out exactly what caused her to drop from above. I took up the role of pigeon ambulance once more, riding the streetcar across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could receive the treatment she required.

An Unexpected Lesson

After stumbling across this hidden pigeon “health service”, I began to feel much differently about being back in my city. I question any of the places I had lived in while away could have anything even close. It also occurred to me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon aid mission: almost 20 years earlier I’d seen one fall from the sky into the playground of my old school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my best friend at the time – had the courage to scoop it up and take it to safety.

The friend in question has since passed away – one of several friends to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I understood that this had been a major reason of what had made coming back so difficult.

Pigeons as Companions

Pigeons have a tradition as “therapy” animals, especially in the North. Laborers started to keep the birds because they gave them comfort and an opportunity to stare at the open air between long shifts of underground work. During the economic downturn, workers on the dole also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was seen as a sign of “despair”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, dirty or a pest. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a vet, who told me: “if you bring the bird here, leave that in the parking lot and we’ll euthanise it.”

It? Not our Belinda. Although not expected to ever take to the skies , she has embraced her newly earthbound life with aplomb in a volunteer’s home. Each contented sound, often elicited by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a demonstration in resilience and resilience – and I am always appreciative to her for unveiling for me a different facet to the city I thought I knew.