Poop is not a dirty word. It is a fascinating process, and the start of a complex interaction of recycling and reusing. Surprisingly, in an age obsessed with recycling, we are remarkably cavalier about sloshing our bodily waste away down sewage pipes, which means that most people have, perhaps, lost touch with the environmental marvels and ecological lessons that dung has to offer.

Out in the natural world, though, no such thoughtless waste occurs, for which we can thank the 6,000 species of dung beetles that attend to excrement around the planet. These handsome, broad, powerful, chunky, glossy beetles assiduously burrow in the stuff, bury it, lay their eggs in it, eat it, and generally get rid of it before it creates a problem.

Dung beetles don’t just bring ecological balance and economic advantage; they demonstrate some of the most remarkable behaviors in the insect kingdom, including mating and nesting instincts usually only seen in birds and mammals. Consider the dung-roller scarabs, revered by the Ancient Egyptians and the subjects of many a film documentary. Their claim to fame is their mad scramble to get enough of a dropping after it has dropped. There are verified accounts of 4,000 dung beetles arriving at a pint-sized sample of elephant dung within 15 minutes, and 16,000 beetles spiriting away three pounds of the dung in under two hours.

Having sculpted out a tennis ball-sized morsel of dung, a pair of rollers—male and female—work together to get it away from the competition as quickly as possible. They set off in a dead straight line, using the sun’s light to navigate. If they meet an obstacle or barrier they may deviate briefly, but once the way ahead is clear, they resume their original heading.

Some species have super-sensitive eyes adapted to using the moon’s light, which means they can work the night shift. Others can detect the direction of the sunlight’s rays even though it has sunk below the horizon. Experiments in an arena in the Johannesburg Planetarium show that some can also navigate using the faint glow of the Milky Way.

Once they are safe from ball thieves, cuckoo parasites (smaller dung beetles laying their eggs in other beetles’ balls of dung), and the general hustle and bustle of the dung site, the rollers bury their dung ball. Then they reveal why they went through all the trouble: The female lays a single egg in it. These large, careful beetles may only lay five eggs in their short lives, and they need to make sure their hatchling grubs have enough food and are safe from predators.

But the dung rollers are not the only beetles working in the dung. Some beetles, which may also work in mated pairs, dig a deep burrow, often three feet or more down, and remove morsels of the dropping into one or more small, subterranean cavities in their tunnel network. Again, when their work is done, they lay individual eggs on each dung food store. One or both beetles may stay in the tunnel, mounting guard against brood parasites wanting to lay their own eggs on someone else’s hard work.