An Experience That Changed Me: A Dove Dropped From Above – Guiding Me to a Hidden Undercover Salvation Group

T battled through layer after layer of icy precipitation during the approach into its destination. A growing unease filled me during the journey, only deepening as I shuffled through the airport. I felt bitter over coming back to the city where I had been raised, after living 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 haircut. My thoughts was miles away, back across an sea, when I was startled by something hit the pavement. I gazed down to see a rock dove on its side, spatchcocked, and twitching.

The crash took place just as children were emerging from the local elementary school and so within a short time a small chorus of youngsters had formed, accompanied by their mums and dads. This group of bemused faces looked down at the creature, uncertain what to say or do. The kids were more certain: “Daddy, she needs help, can we call an animal ambulance?” I slipped off my anorak, crouched down and gently lifted the pigeon inside it. “No problem, love, the kind man will look after her!” said one mother with a audible relief. I had become the emergency transport for this pigeon that had just fallen suddenly, against its will, as I had a few days before.

I made my way home, arms held out, with the bird nestled inside the garment.

Little did I know that my spontaneous decision to medivac the bird (the name I gave my new friend) would direct me to a network of local residents sacrificing significant amounts of their time to provide not only transport for feral pigeons but X-rays, convalescence, and even “avian physiotherapy”.

I located a small container for Belinda, prepared it with an old T-shirt, and put her inside. Every 20 minutes or so, I’d open the box just long enough for us to awkwardly lock eyes.

Those periods of mutual bewilderment interrupted my hectic search for what to do next. I phoned friends for advice and one recommended trying Facebook, where, to my amazement, I discovered a local pigeon rescue group, and sent a request to become a member.

An Anarchic Model

Over 3,000-strong, the group operates on an organic model: someone in Manchester discovers an ailing pigeon, a pleading post is created, then a comment section “evaluation” follows. If the bird is judged in need of an X-ray, someone with a connection to a clinic can get it one; if it needs therapy, a “carer” will step forward to foster the bird.

Volunteers each have their own highly developed expertise, whether it’s repairing broken wings or cleaning wounds. Their significant, collective effort for the pigeons of the city runs entirely on volunteerism.

Belinda was rapidly assessed with a neurological issue, likely a concussion, and matched with a rehabber who would give medication and a program of careful physio. We never learned exactly what caused her to plummet. I resumed the role of bird taxi once more, riding the light rail across the city with Belinda in a shoebox on my lap so she could get the attention she required.

A New Perspective

After finding this underground pigeon “NHS”, I began to feel much better about being back in my home town. I am skeptical any of the places I had lived in while away could have anything even close. It also dawned on me that this was not the first time I’d been involved in a pigeon rescue: almost 20 years earlier I’d observed one fall from the sky into the playground of my high school. Again, children gathered around the bird, but only one – my friend at the time – had the gall to rescue it and take it to a safe place.

The friend in question has since been lost – one of a number of companions to die in the years before my departure from Manchester. I came to see that this had been a significant factor of what had made coming back so painful.

Feathered Support

Pigeons have a tradition as “emotional support” animals, especially in the north of England. Workers started to keep the birds because they gave them comfort and an reason to look up at the sky between long shifts of subterranean gloom. During the hard times, workers on the unemployment also found a distraction in pigeons, but keeping them was viewed as a sign of “social malaise”.

Nowadays, pigeons are often written off as stupid, unclean or a annoyance. Before finding the rehab group, I had called a veterinarian, who told me: “if you bring it here, leave it in the car park and we’ll euthanise it.”

The bird? Not this bird. Although improbable to ever fly again , she has adapted to her newly grounded life with aplomb in a volunteer’s extra room. Each satisfied call, often caused by her favourite snack, peas, feels like a example in adaptability and fortitude – and I am always appreciative to her for showing me a different facet to the city I was familiar with.