You are now, perhaps, an entomologist with a fear of dogs.

She, an ignorant insect like yourself, had no appreciation for this gift and left you for a rival male with shinier wing covers.  Mere hours later you were eaten by a jackal. 

It seems that you were a scarab or dung beetle upon the Egyptian desert floor.  A dull existence perhaps but on one occasion you had a brush with greatness. You were able to offer your chosen mate a ball of excrement left by the prophet Moses. 

The ancient past appears before me.