On closer inspection, it was a delicate little bird with its head tucked under the curve of the hanging basket that was lying winter-fallow on the pavers.

It was not moving at all, but its little sides were rhythmically moving. Breathing! Perhaps it had flown into the window, and had concussion.

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It was a male golden whistler. It had an olive back, a golden vest and a white chin with black head and neck.

We put it in a shoebox inside, out of the weather, hoping it would eventually come to and be able to fly off. As it got dark, we realised we'd need to keep it overnight.

I know that at any time of night or day, birds are living and dying all around me. But when there's one on your doorstep, you're immediately drawn in. I found myself fiercely wanting it to survive, willing it to live.

As the hours passed, I'd lift the lid, carefully, knowing that to the golden whistler, I was just a giant predator, the stuff of nightmares.

Each lifting of the lid would be making that little heart race, sending stress hormones coursing through the body.

But now there were signs of hope: it would turn its neck to look around at me. But it was keeping very still, not even stretching out a wing.

In the morning, my partner already on the road for work, I was fearing the worst. I made a stupid mistake based on my own pessimism.

Steeling myself against finding a lifeless little creature, I was caught off guard when it flew out and landed on top of a large framed painting, way out of reach. So stupid! Cursing myself!

How do you get a tiny frightened bird, weak from hunger, stress and concussion, out of your living room into a more viable environment? It was not making a bid for freedom through open windows and doors.

Over the phone, the vet advised throwing a light towel over it.

When it moved to the back of the armchair, I seized my chance.

I ran the towel, the shoebox and the golden whistler to the vet, and filled out a form that would summons a wildlife carer who would hopefully have more skills than me in nursing a tiny little life back to health and freedom.

Fingers crossed for you, little golden whistler!

To donate to WIRES or find out more about becoming a volunteer go to wires.org.au.