Our old house had a ridiculously small double sink in the bathroom. Eventually I removed it and replaced it with a single sink that had counter space for things like toothbrushes. I never found anything useful about that double sink until Sophie got her feet really dirty.
When we were out and Sophie does not get her usual wash and wear cycle, we would pick her up and carry her upstairs. Not wanting to clean up dog-slop from the car to the third floor where the bathing bathroom it seemed like a good solution. We were no-doubt sloppy too so carrying a 50 pound dog up two flights of stairs seemed a reasonable thing to do.
When I remodeled the old house, we build a bathroom on the ground floor. You could go from the garage right into a bathroom. The only bit in the path to the bath was a short stretch of easy to clean engineered wood with a 50 year finish on it. The new house will have the same bathroom in the same place.
But, before the bathroom, up the stairs she went indignantly being carried by my spouse. She was deposited in the tiny master bathroom to stand, tail down, ears pinned back and with a doleful expression awaiting her punishment by bath. When asked, she would hop into the tub, still looking as if she was going to her death. The bath would be uneventful but followed by true joy when she was allowed to get out and rub her head into the towel I held out to her.
On the day in question I just did not have it in me to make her get into the tub. Home or not, this was a horrible thing. I also did not want to get totally wet and have her slosh around in the tub trying to shake off the soap and water. I looked at her contemplating my options. Her feet were the real problem. The rest I could just wipe off with a damp towel. I looked at my sink and I looked at her feet and inspiration hit. There was something useful about those stupid sinks.
Scoop, plop. Before she knew it I had deposited her with two feet in one bowl and two in the other. She tolerated those sinks like she did a bath, tail down and ears pinned back with a doleful look on her face. Still, I got less wet and she got clean feet. Over the years before I replaced that stupid double sink she got more than one foot-bath there. I did not miss the sinks when they were gone and Sophie CERTAINLY did not miss them. Like so many lessons I learned from our old house, creative approaches yield rewards.
We got clean feet and we found a use for those stupid sinks.