Kickass, the doorstop dog, reports that the keeper has apparently reached that point in life—the one that happens to everyone, when there is a personality pole-like change from the-strange-urge-to-amass-junk to one of we’ve-got-to-get-rid-of-some-of-this-damn-stuff. It is factored in that the keeper was once a partner in the antique business, and had an extensive toy collection as well as several other collections—children’s sewing machines, musical instruments, typewriters, Erector sets, old tools, metal soldiers, pocket knives and on and on. He was obviously rehearsing for the “Hoarder’s” TV show which did not exist at the time. However time marches on—he had a clock collection too, and it is now apparent that, as Phyllis points out, tripping through a house full of junk is simply not a healthy thing to do. It was like a dog finally remembering where it had buried a bone: the keeper saw the light and pronounced that it all has to go, even the collection of African carved animals. He feels somehow liberated, but also as if he might experience that old nightmare of running through the streets naked.