I don't know his name ...  I saw the whole story.  A wounded bird was on his roof.  I could hear its cries from here. He went straight to it.  I couldn't've. I'd be frozen between pity and fear. But he wasn't.  Its pain spoke directly to him.  He picked it up.  Nursed it. Fed it.  And it got better.  Everyday he'd watch the pigeon.  Everyday the pigeon would watch him. I saw him learn. Learn that there was one more thing he had to do to make the rescue complete. And one day just as afternoon became evening he leaned over opened the cage and walked away.  Didn't look back.  But he heard the sound of its wings.