This is "Hobbyist" by Eric Frank Russell, as per https://scifi.stackexchange.com/a/153725/23243.
Within ten minutes he'd found a great coil of the coppery metal, a huge ovoid, intricately wound, lying beside a disassembled machine... ...His hands were trembling slightly but his hawklike face was firm, phlegmatic as he carefully threaded the wire's end through the automatic injector and into the feed hole of the Kingston-Kanes.
It's available on the Internet Archive.
From there, I verified that you remembered the ending correctly:
Down on Oron, deep in the monster workshop, the golden giant paused blindly as if listening. Then it slid stealthily along the immense aisles, reached the filing system. A compartment opened, two glassy plates came out.
For a moment the plates contacted the Oron's strange, sparkling substance, became etched with an array of tiny dots. They were returned to the compartment, and the door closed. The golden glory with its imprisoned stars then glided quietly back to the machine section.
Something nearer to the gods had scribbled its notes. Nothing lower in the scale of life could have translated them or deduced their full purport.
In simplest sense, one plate may have been inscribed, "Biped, erect, pink, homo intelligens type P.739, planted on Sol III, Condensation Arm BDB — moderately successful."
Similarly, the other plate may have recorded, "Flapwing, large, hook-beaked, vari-colored, periquito macao type K.8, planted on Sol III, Condensation Arm BDB — moderately successful."
But already the sparkling hobbyist
had forgotten his passing notes. He
was breathing his essence upon a