THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER

When did the quality of one's lawn become such a suburban status symbol?

I live in a typical subdivision in a fairly typical Midwestern suburb. The homes, while unlikely to be considered cookie cutter, are far from extravagant. Each one is derived from one of four or five basic plans, though the brick and siding and color schemes vary enough to make each home feel distinct.

Yet, it's no longer enough to merely take pride in the attractiveness of these structures. In the few short years we've lived in our home, I've quickly discovered that a lavish lawn is really where it's at. I've even come to suspect that some residents judge your character by the degree of green between the street and your front door.

Son: "Dad, can I go over to play at Tommy's house?"

Dad: "Are you kidding? Have you seen how bad their lawn looks? God only knows what goes on inside their home."

Son: "But Daaaad..."

Dad: "I said 'No'. Now get out there and help your sister fertilize."

The competition for the best lawn on our street is quite fierce. My next-door-neighbor recently installed a secondary pump to increase the amount of water dispersed by his sprinkler system. When it's running, my shower pressure is so low I'm forced to rinse with my son's supersoaker.

Another guy on our block cuts his lawn three or four times per week -- whether it needs it or not. I've even seen him on his riding mower at night.

And I thought the headlights on those things were merely for show.

As for me, well, the neighbors aren't sending their kids over to play at my house.

But I must explain. See, I'm at a big disadvantage because we own a dog. A big, female dog. And let me tell you something about big, female dogs which you may not know: Their urine makes industrial acid seem like apple juice.

Wherever she squats, the grass immediately shrivels up and dies. You can almost hear the poor, defenseless blades screaming in agony. Worse yet, nothing will grow in that spot for generations.

Once, I walked across the street to chat with the neighbor who is currently winning the best lawn competition. Unbeknownst to me, the dog followed and began sniffing around his lawn. I figured this out when my neighbor stopped breathing.

Fortunately, our dog only likes to utilize a small portion of our property for her "business." Unfortunately, the spot is right in front of the house, adjacent to the sidewalk.

The lawn in this location began to look so bad, this spring I dug it all up and replaced it with a mound covered in small shrubs.

When I finished, a number of neighbors complimented me on the "new landscaping."

What they were really saying was: "It's about time you took care of that area. But we'll forgive your tardiness, if you promise not to let it happen again. Oh, and any time you want to have our kids over to play, let us know."

After that, I tried to get the dog to do her "business" in the woods behind our house. She wouldn't. She'd simply look at me as if I were asking her to urinate in her living room.

Next, I attempted to hose down any new spots immediately after she finished. But they're kind of hard to see at ten o'clock at night.

Eventually, I gave up.

My lawn is spotted once again. My character is being whispered about at weekend barbecues.

But I think it will all be okay -- once we change our names and move to Alaska.

Copyright: Marc L. Prey 2002