Doug Clark: In bummer of a summer, Max’s return miraculous

We begin today’s lost-and-fowl story with an apology.

Tina Morrison is deeply sorry for all the racket she made while roaming the streets of Spokane’s South Hill during Fourth of July week.

No, this isn’t about setting off illegal fireworks. Morrison disturbed the peace in her own unique way: She conducted a frantic whistling search for her missing cockatiel, Max.

Morrison is a petite and cultured woman who plays bassoon. Don’t let that fool you. The woman can whistle like a dockworker.

“I know I just drove my neighbors crazy,” she said.

There’s no reason to feign suspense. As you can see from the photographs, the wayward bird is back in the Morrison household where she spends much of the time perched on top of Tina’s head.

But when Morrison called to tell me about her ordeal and her shrill attempts to get Max back, well, I had to pass it on. After all the lousy news Spokane has faced this summer (the sewage-polluted river, the death of Doug Dawson, our rotten cops …) I figured we were all due for a laugh.

You see, Morrison, president of the Spokane chapter of the musician’s union, has developed an unusual bond with her bird.

She often serenades Max by whistling the familiar first five notes to that American standard: “It Had to be You.”

Then Max chirps back a cockatiel version to Morrison.

This crazy duet has been going on since Morrison got the bird four years ago. The moment she laid eyes on the small gray and yellow topnotched critter, Morrison said the song just “popped into my mind.”

Max accidentally got out of the house July 3. She flew into the top of a nearby pine tree and vanished into the branches.

Morrison tried to coax her bird back by putting two fingers between her lips and blasting out their theme song. Morrison did this so often that she probably owes royalties to the copyright holder.

Morrison tried everything. She put Max’s green cage in the yard. Gregg, Morrison’s husband of 18 years, scanned the trees with binoculars. Donna Best, who lives next door, owns Max’s brother, Romeo. She moved Romeo out into the yard in hopes of encouraging a feathered family reunion.

The only sign of Max was a chirping response whenever Morrison whistled. Morrison was worried. Cockatiels don’t exactly fair well in the wild. That’s why you never see any of them flying in formation.

Early on the Fourth, Morrison heard Max squawk. She watched her fly south over housetops and disappear. “Everything seemed to be going south that week,” said Morrison, who was also dealing with the death of two friends.

Morrison had to spend most of the Fourth doing music business. Later that night, when the big thunderstorm hit, she feared she would never see her crooning cockatiel again.

“Gregg and I sat around the house afraid to look at each other. We were absolutely morose.”

On July 5, Morrison and Best made posters. They distributed them all over the South Hill.

Then Morrison drove around random neighborhoods in her red-and- white Mini Cooper with the sun roof and windows open. Every few minutes she’d slow down, put two fingers in her lips and unleash that ear-splitting melody.

The good news is that Morrison somehow avoided arrest. The bad news is that Max remained on the lam.

“By Friday morning I had pretty much lost my mind,” said Morrison.

OK. So here comes the happy ending.

Early Friday evening a family found Max hopping around the parking lot of a restaurant on South Regal. Max apparently jumped on a young girl and stayed put long enough to be coaxed into the family’s car.

These good people hauled Max to the Petco pet store in the Lincoln Heights shopping center. As luck would have it, Best had been there earlier. She dropped off a poster that displayed a photograph of Max and the Morrison home telephone number.

The call was made and Gregg relayed the message to Morrison, who was at work.

“I’m usually pretty stoic,” she said, “but I just turned into a blubbering mess when I got the call.”

Unfortunately, there’s only one mystery left in this feel-good drama. The family who rescued Max never left their names.

Morrison would love to know who they are to say thanks. If they ask, she might even whistle you know what.

“She’s a wonderful little creature,” said Morrison. “And it was just an amazing series of things that brought her home.”