The grass is definitely greener on the other side—just ask my dogs, who flopped like drama queens in the neighbor’s lawn like it was a five-star spa. “This patch,” they declared with their tongues wagging, “is the softest, coolest, most deliciously chewable turf in all the land!” Our yard? An insult. A scandal. A dry, tragic mat of betrayal. If grass had Yelp, they’d give ours two stars and a passive-aggressive bark. But cross that invisible fence line? Suddenly, it’s heaven. Because apparently, grass touched by forbidden paws just hits different.