We have an old dog. These days, napping is her favorite sport. Sometimes she'll look up at me all bleary-eyed, resigned about being woken and hoping for a belly rub. I usually comply, but never for long enough. I can tell by the way her eyes follow me into the next room, and urge me to continue when I come back.
That's how I feel about foot massage.
It's one of those things you can do for yourself, but the result just isn't as satisfying. People who love me know that a good ten minutes per foot will get them just about anything within reason, including my undying loyalty. Guess us old dogs have a lot in common.