Late afternoon by the LA River

There seem to be more homeless people in this park each week: more sleeping bags stretched out next to plastic bags spilling out belongings, convening in this particular triangular section where the sliver of grassy city park ends and the concrete banks of the LA river pass underneath the street bridge.

The dog seems spooked by this corner of the park today. Usually, she lingers on the grass here: savoring ever last scent in this tiny bastion of green before we start our journey home across the asphalt and concrete. But today she walks slowly, gingerly, just along the edge of the sidewalk. As if she’s seen a ghost lurking on the grass.

The young couple with the Chihuahua beats us to the bridge. The man picks up the teensy dog and the woman stands and stares at the river and points down. And I wonder what they’re looking at: the concrete banks? The algae buildup in the tiny pools of stagnant water?

And then I see it.

“A bunny,” I say to the couple as I, too, spot the a fluffy brown rabbit with a cotton-ball white tail. It’s hopping on a stretch of dirt just next to the metal fence that lines the river’s banks.

“Three,” they smile and point.

I spot a second rabbit. Then the dog ducks under the metal guard rail and starts walking on the dirt: through the dried eucalyptus leaves, nose hovering just an inch off the ground, absorbing everything.

She lurches forward.

She points me to it: dishes of greens, a water bottle attached to a bowl. Someone is taking care of these bunnies. They belong to someone. Or someone belongs to them. Perhaps it's one of those new sleeping-bagged figures on the grass in the park.

If only the coyotes stay away long enough.