I therefore conclude that Mr. Endangered Species must be a dragon. He's elusive, terrifying, stuff for legends, and very very rare (endangered na nga e!). Legions of folks spend their lives following their tracks, only to be disappointed, or even killed in the process. Some find him, momentarily, but he breathes fire out his nostrils, leaving the beholder charred and broken and disfigured forever.
I'm a dragon hunter myself. It's not an easy plight but oh well, I'd rather have that dragon. There were months when I've learned to live in peace and plenty, with no apparent trauma from Mr. Dragon, and then all of sudden, just when National Geographic declared dragons extinct, you find your old friend-slash-nemesis swoop down from the sky like a nasty Nazgul, setting fire to everything you've built.
Then one day, I finally managed to gather enough guts and gumption to face my dragon and tell him, without batting an eyelash, "Darn, Your Royal Weirdness. You may be endangered but you know what? You are such an ass." Ah, the royal fire-breathing ass. I feel like a knight wielding a spear to poor endangered beast's heart. I'm the great Eowyn who felled the dreaded Nazgul, hahaha, congratulate me.
Dragon got up, felt nothing, went back to Mordor to hide in the fires of Mt. Doom. And I'm, oh well, I'm still around poring over dragon fossils, and my long tedious dragon-hunting story is still ongoing, like a sappy Pinoy telenovela that refuses to end. Sigh, I have to concede. There is yet to be a "To be continued". Aaaargh.