Male turf love is rampant. Walk down your street and you'll likely encounter a weed-free warrior who edges his lawn with a ruby laser and regards thatch as a serious character flaw. But you may be surprised to learn how often this genetic disorder seduces other family members into codependent relationships. Here are a few of their shocking stories.

It's a typical day in Greenville, South Carolina. Andy and Carolyn Anderson are down on their knees. Why? Because a loathsome weed has dared to invade Andy's nearly perfect 'Emerald' Zoysia lawn. While Andy uses needle-nose pliers to hold the offender upright, Carolyn obligingly paints its leaves with a cotton swab dipped in Roundup.

Andy's lawn doesn't just look like a putting green--it really is one. His John Deere greens mower cuts as low as 3/16 inch, so Carolyn, an avid golfer, can practice putting. Of course, she's not permitted to dig a hole for the cup. How protective of his grass is he? A few years ago, he suffered a heart attack at home. As paramedics wheeled him on a gurney toward a waiting ambulance, they foolishly eschewed the front walk and crossed his sacred lawn. "They put ugly ruts in my freshly mown grass," Andy recalls indignantly. "I gave 'em hell."

Turf love reveals itself in a variety of aberrant practices. Warren Jones of Augusta, Georgia, tests for mole crickets in his immaculate 'Meyer' Zoysia lawn by pouring liquid detergent on a small section. The suds irritate the insects and force them to surface. Kathy Meuret of Riverside, Ohio, boasts that her husband, Terry, employs two kinds of suds. "He washes the lawn--yes, wash as in clean--with ammonia and liquid soap," she says. "And he feeds the lawn with stale beer--not just any cheap beer, but the good stuff." Clearly, Terry needs immediate help.

Terry isn't alone. David and Dana Brandon of Palm Harbor, Florida, send daughters Christy, Nicole, and Jenni on weed-seeking missions. If any are spotted, David encircles them with orange spray paint and applies herbicide, creating rounded dead zones. "It looks just like aliens landed," notes Dana. According to Liz McGuffey of Durham, North Carolina, her former neighbor, Edgar Toms, "combs every blade of grass." Greg Haworth of Oklahoma City uses a shop vacuum to suck up thatch that floats over from his neighbor's yard after a heavy rain. In Galloway, New Jersey, Southern Living subscriber Frank Rudisill truly has a lawn to dye for. When watering restrictions result in brown spots, he sprays them with green dye.

In the convoluted mind of a lawn fanatic, ordinary actions become heinous offenses. Ann Haworth once commented to her husband, Greg, about how wonderful it would be to win the yard-of-the-month award. Greg's response: "The sign would leave holes in the yard, and we just can't have that." At Kathy Meuret's home, "driving on, parking on, and walking on the grass after a heavy rain are regarded as capital crimes. And God help you if you even think about lawn ornaments. You violate the Law of the Lawn and you will face Judge Terry and his Superior Turf Tribunal."

Not that lawn rangers don't goof up themselves. In Brentwood, Tennessee, Joe Buffler used a new chemical to kill the Bermuda grass invading his fescue. The fescue died; the Bermuda did fine. In St. Augustine, Florida, Curt Zimmerman fertilized his grass with Milorganite, a product made from treated sewage sludge. The odor, recalls his wife, Cindy, "made the neighbors think we had an outhouse built on our property."

Such mishaps can result in a siege mentality, turning turf love into turf war. Glenn and Mary Clements built a home in Purvis, Mississippi. "We picked the right builder, the right colors, the right fabrics. We made but one fatal mistake," says Mary. "We did not pour cement over the entire yard. Instead, we planted grass."

Lawn care may stress out Glenn and Mary, but it relieves stress for Joe Buffler. This CPA blows off steam by cutting the lawn every chance he gets. Rumor has it that during tax time, he mows the grass every 45 seconds.

Wives are the most frequent victims of turf love. Many feel a little green monster has supplanted them in their husbands' hearts. "I know David takes great pride in his family and job," says Lynn Wistar of Reisterstown, Maryland, "but I'd hate to ask if his lawn comes first--I might not like the answer!" Diana Bosse of Loveland, Ohio, says this of her husband, Steve: "I tease him about the time he spends in the yard. In our early years of marriage, I told him the only way I could get him to pay any attention to me was to wear something from Victoria's Secret and strap myself to the John Deere."

Despite its heartbreaks, stresses, disasters, and strains, the quest for the perfect lawn has rewards too. "I'll never forget," remembers Andy Anderson (above right), "the time three little boys came by our yard. One knelt down, took his hand, and rubbed the grass. Then he looked at his little buddies and said, "See, I told you it was real!"