Starting a poop scooping business wasn't my idea. It was Erica's. Immediately however I thought it was a good idea. For her. And, as the owner of a successful Dallas web design and advertising firm (I created this website) I was quick to volunteer my services to help her get up and running. Of course I never dreamed I was also signing on to scoop my share of dog poop.

I thought as a business it made a lot of sense. Who wants to scoop dog poop when they can just hire someone else to do it at low cost? Who mows their own lawn these days? I've been an advertising artist and writer all my life so my part seemed like fun.

But slowly, like the stroke of midnight when Cinderella would turn back into a pumpkin... whatever, the day was coming when I'd have to go out and help scoop. My first day was the worst. I hoped no one would see me. The truth of it is, I had never before picked up dog poop in my life. On daily walks with our own dog... er, huh... I left that job to Erica. I know now I was a bad daddy dog.

It was not just an issue of disgust. It was status. Me? Picking up dog poop? For a few minutes there, I hit rock bottom. I wore sun glasses so no one would recognize me.

My first day was the worst. The dogs jumped on me. I had trouble focusing on the grass. Like an optical illusion, if you stare at grass long enough, you get disoriented. Instead of both eyes looking at the same blade of grass, one eye starts to drift left and the other starts looking over there, and I swear, you can step right into the poop you're supposed to be picking up.

I thought, "This is harder than I thought." Then after 5 minutes or so came the real insult. "How many poops have you got?" Erica asked. She had been doing another part of the yard. "Maybe three" I said. "How about you?"

"Seventeen."

Yeah, disturbing. I know. I can't print what I really thought because children might read this website one day. Look. I don't care how high your IQ is. IQ tests are hard. Stupid tests are easy. There are easy tests for stupid. And I was passing with flying colors.

"What? I'm supposed to count too?"

Cheerfully, she answered, "Yes, or how will you know for sure if you got them all? Two dogs times two poops a day for a week equals 28 poops total... At least." The grass blades were waving and I couldn't focus. Call it what you will... like "snow blind" or "white out" -- "grass blind" or "grass out." I kept losing count. It was hot.

With renewed intention, I got my count up to 9. And suddenly, we were done. With distinct relief, we went out in front to disinfect shoes and tools. Erica double bagged the poop and actually I never even got my hands dirty. As we drove away, I reflected on the ordeal. I was glad there were no witnesses.

But I was also glad I did something to help make Dallas a better place in which to live.