By Allan Ripp

Cliché or not, sometimes all it takes is an outstretched hand – never mind the few ruffled feathers – to help a fellow New Yorker in distress.

My wife and I were braving a walk down Central Park West on one of those polar vortex days last week when the temperature barely got above 10 degrees. Sarah even consented to wear one of my many neck warmers.

Approaching 84th Street we thought we recognized the woman waving at us – in fact, she was a stranger gesturing toward a barred window ledge at the corner. “I’m rushing to my doctor – do you think you could help?”

We looked over to see a green parakeet clutching the ledge – a startling sight on such a frigid afternoon. I’ve always been fond of budgies, having had a turquoise-blue one as a child called Topsy – 60 years later, her name is one of my go-to passwords. This bird looked young based on the dark bands on its forehead.

We saw no open windows but figured it hadn’t been out for long – a thin metallic band around its leg signaled it had a home. I quickly approached and cupped my gloved hands around it – the bird flapped but didn’t fly away and its gentle nips on my finger showed how tame it was.

Sarah and I had the same immediate thought – let’s take it to the Wild Bird Fund on Columbus Avenue and 87th Street, surely they’d know what to do. I stroked its round yellow head as we started back uptown.

“Sorry, we only handle pigeons and other wild birds, not pets,” one of the rescuers told us, dismissing our waif for having parakeet privilege. She told us to try the bird vet across the street, properly known as the Center for Avian and Exotic Medicine. We knew it well, having stopped often to let our grandkids watch the canaries and finches fluttering and feeding in the window. How fortunate now that we had an avian in need of help.

The receptionists weren’t welcoming. No appointments available or accommodation for a walk-in, especially if it might be ill. With a deposit of $159 we could schedule a later visit. “Have you tried the Wild Bird Fund?” they asked. A woman in the waiting area overheard our plea and said she’d love to take the budgie, but explained she was there because her bird had a contagious bacterial infection called bumblefoot. She said she’d post something on Next Door and asked for our number. With some begging, the staff gave us a box to carry the bird home.

I was beginning to weaken and thought back to the days when Topsy flew freely around my bedroom and alighted on my shoulder, cooing and pecking my ear. But Sarah reminded me of our allergies and preference for a new dog. Still, we stopped at a couple of pet shops on Columbus for birdseed and to inquire about a cage, while Sarah continued to call local vets.

Back at our apartment we poured some seed into the box and Sarah cut up a Solo cup to make a water trough. The bird burst forth and flew around our small office in a chartreuse streak. I was hoping it would land on my shoulder but it went to the window sill – possibly expecting another escape act.

I was about to try Petco for a cage when we had a Eureka: Petqua! The homey, old-fashioned pet shop on Broadway and 98th had friendly owners – they also had birds in abundance, including uncaged parrots. I called and told them about our found budgie. We finally got the answer we’d been looking for: “We adopt birds.”

We coaxed our new friend into the box and traipsed over. Petqua’s co-owner Sam led us downstairs to the tropical aquarium and aviary basement, filled with fish tanks, lizard terrariums and even a koi pond. Their giant tortoise George – 26 years old – scraped merrily along the floor like a prehistoric Roomba.

Toward the rear was a large vertical cage housing several bright green budgies not unlike ours. Sam unlatched the door, we opened our box and the bird flipped right in and onto a perch, its feathers puffed out stoutly.

“That’s from the cold,” Sam said, adding it might not have survived more than a few hours in the deep freeze. Within seconds another green parakeet hopped right next to ours and pecked a greeting – Sam could tell our bird was female from the light tan coloring above the beak. “She’s found a friend,” he said. I leaned in close to wish her well and heard a jaunty voice in my ear say, “Hello.” It was the gray parrot in the next cage.

We returned a few days later for a visit and to see George, who was enjoying a carrot and radish salad in a bowl on the floor. Our bird, whom we recognized from her tag, went from preening herself in the mirror to unraveling some twine along the perch and hopping down for a nibble of seed alongside her new buddies. She was definitely enjoying her new home.

I received a text from the woman from the vet’s office who offered to find a taker – I had added her to my contacts as “Terry Parakeet.” She shared the number of someone named Justine who was interested in the bird. We’re thinking it over – not because we’re planning to buy her back, but only if Justine will give us visitation rights. Otherwise, as any found Upper West Side bird would attest, “What could be nicer than Petqua?”

Allan Ripp, who lives on West 96th Street, runs a press relations firm in New York.