Zoe the donkey was the greatest chef who ever lived.

She attributed her success to her kitchen, which was a dry, crusty paddock. Snuffling among the spiky weeds, Zoe thought of the place as a state-of-the-art cooking facility.

Every day, she prepared the most fabulous cuisine for the other farm animals to dine upon.

Zoe prided herself not only on her yummy treats but also on her cleanliness. Like any world-class donkey chef, she’d always wash her hooves with care and be sure to wipe down surfaces with her bristly tail before cooking.

Zoe was most particular about where she prepared food. She chose only the most pollen-heavy patches of ground to ensure maximum flavour. She fussed over the produce, making certain her ingredients were fresh and clean.

‘It is the zest of life itself,’ Zoe brayed to herself, ‘to serve up delicious dishes for my friends to enjoy!’

And enjoy them they did.

The sheep queued up for hours just to nab a piece of Zoe’s dusty hay slice.

The chickens clucked with glee whenever Zoe served her chewed-carrot grass cake. It was generously frosted with barley straw and dead bugs. Scrumptious!

But there was one dish that really got the farm excited. This was the food that filled the air with happy moos, quacks, honks, snorts and bleats. The star item on the menu was Zoe’s famous trough soups!

Made in her wide, metal drinking trough, her soups were mouth-watering.

The most astounding thing about the soups was how creative the recipes were. Most chefs would hone a single recipe over many years and then stick to it, but not Zoe. She was a culinary genius. She crafted her superb soups out of whatever scraps the farmer threw to her that day – soft carrots, brown apples, or, if she was lucky, nibbled-on corn cobs.

As a final flourish, she’d add a hoof-full of weeds and purple thistles for a touch of spice.

Heaven!

Her trough soups were what Zoe was known for – her signature dish. Every day, Zoe’s heart soared with pride as she watched the animals slurp the trough dry. After they left, Zoe would twist the nearby tap with her teeth to fill the trough with fresh water for the following day, then shuffle off to bed.

Although all the animals were fans of Zoe’s soups, there was one in particular who adored the soups even more than the rest – Pip the dog.

Pip had lived on the farm just as long as Zoe. She was a cheeky terrier, and her interest in Zoe’s soups was very keen indeed.

Not because she liked to eat them, though.

It was because she liked to sit in them.

Ahhh! Zoe’s water trough was the perfect bath for Pip. After a long day of rabbit-hunting, she’d plop down and relax in the soup, soaking her tired little paws.

Zoe, of course, was unaware of this. She would never serve her friends soups contaminated by a dog!

Pip suspected as much, so she didn’t want Zoe to catch her at it. Every evening, she would listen for the rushing water as Zoe refilled the trough. Then she’d sneak into Zoe’s paddock and enjoy lengthy soaks after Zoe and the other animals had gone to sleep.

One summer evening, it was unbearably hot. Zoe was just settling in to sleep when she began smacking her lips. The heat had left her tongue even fuzzier than usual, and she found herself desperate for a drink.

Sleepy and yawning, Zoe trudged over to her trough.

‘Eeeyoooore!’ she brayed in shock. ‘Yuck! Blergh! Blecchy-blerghy-yuck! Is that you, Pip?!’

Wet fur sagging over her eyes, Pip blinked up at Zoe from inside her trough bath. ‘Yep,’ she woofed. ‘I’m not anyone else.’

‘What are you doing in my trough?’

‘Enjoying meself.’

‘This violates every food-handling rule issued by the Department of Donkey Hygiene!’

Pip was surprised by Zoe’s outrage. ‘Come off it, love,’ she yapped. ‘I’ve been bathin’ in here for years.’

Zoe’s grey lips flared in horror. ‘Years?! You’ve been polluting my master stock with your fur and slobber for years?’

‘If you didn’t know, love, why do you fill the trough with fresh water each night for my benefit?’ Pip slid deeper into her bath and gave a relaxed sigh.

‘Your benefit?! My soups are famous around here – have you not heard? Largely because I use the purest fresh water.’

Pip sampled a slurp of her bath. ‘Tastes like dog to me,’ she woofed.

‘What an unappreciative mutt!’

Zoe was steaming from the nostrils now. She hated getting mad at her friend Pip, but she couldn’t hold it together.

Pip frowned. ‘All right, all right,’ she yapped, ‘cool your nostrils, love. I’ve been sneakin’ in here, I admit it. But only because I didn’t want you to have an angry nostril fit like you’re havin’ right now.’

Zoe bared her square teeth and gave a despairing eeyore.

‘I’ll hop out in a sec,’ Pip assured her. ‘I’m almost done – just need the twinge in me lower back to loosen up.’ She groaned and tilted her scruffy head from side to side.

Unable to contain her rage, Zoe kicked over the trough with her back hooves. Pip sailed out, yapping in protest, and raced off up the hill.

Muttering her disapproval, Zoe gave the empty trough a thorough scrub with her tail. She worked all night till it was sparkling clean, then filled it with fresh water.

After sunrise, Zoe invited all the animals over for a fresh batch of trough soup. She’d been saving several corn cobs plus some dried parsley and mushy pears from past scrap deliveries.

With her trough so beautifully cleaned, Zoe was certain this would be her best batch of soup yet. The excited animals lined up along the trough, sipped the soup, and swirled it around in their mouths.

But as soon as they sampled it …

Pffffplplpffffff!

… they all spat the soup out in a violent spray.

‘Quaarghh!’ quacked the ducks.

‘Baa-aaaww!’ bleated the sheep.

‘This soup is rank,’ oinked the pigs. ‘Quick, let’s eat some of these wheaty cowpats to take the taste away!’

Zoe snuffled in horror. The animals hated the soup so much, they turned their tails and stormed out of the paddock restaurant in a huff!

Tears welled in the donkey’s shiny brown eyes. She looked down as she heard a soft pitter-patter.

It was Pip. She sat beside Zoe and put a paw on her hoof.

‘It’ll be right, love,’ she yapped. ‘Your trough still makes for a terrific bath!’

Zoe snorted crankily.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Pip, and rolled over onto her back as dogs do when they apologise.

Zoe was about to give Pip a piece of her donkey mind when she noticed Pip’s scruffy belly. Twisted into Pip’s fur were clumps of dry mud and twigs and burrs and who knows what else.

Of course! Zoe thought. I now realise what was missing from today’s soup. Pip! She’s been the secret ingredient all this time, adding wonderful flavour to my soups for years!

‘Hmm,’ Zoe wondered out loud, ‘maybe if I’m careful, and no one finds out, I can secretly continue using you to flavour my soups.’

‘Totally, love,’ yapped Pip. ‘It’s for the greater good. Your soups make everyone so happy. They don’t need to know what’s really in them, do they? Besides, no one cares what’s in their food as long as it tastes good.’

‘Really?’ Zoe said.

‘Yes. I’ve even seen the farmer eat chicken nuggets! Who knows what’s in them?’

From that day on, the farm was back to its happy self, with the animals once again relishing Zoe’s trough soups and Pip enjoying her evening bath.

Zoe was proud and the animals content. But no one was happier than Pip. She’d found a whole new purpose in life – knowing that she was the secret ingredient.

Or was she?