(Note: Mayberry will never be mistaken for Middleburg. Nor are there squires or nobility in their ranks. However, they do follow the same time honored rituals and have every bit as much fun as the worthies of Warrenton.)
Fox chasing (not"hunting," because that version doesn't end well for the redhead) is still popular in horse country, although development makes it increasingly difficult to find wide expanses necessary for the field of horses, packs of hounds and hilltoppers (spectators with the flasks and other goodies,) and their quarries, who delight in leading them far afield. Fortunately, Carroll County still has connecting farms with ample acreage, making it a fine place to hunt on horseback.
Two long-standing clubs where I grew up were Iron Bridge, outside of Laurel, and Marlborough, in lower Prince George's and Anne Arundel Counties. Both are active today. (Marborough Hunt Club sponsors the popular Roedown steeplechase race every April.)
But back to Taneytown. If you look towards the Catoctins when you hear yelping on a Sunday morning, you'll see the dogs and riders pop over the hill and survey the farm below. The hounds whoop some more and take off again, being guided by the outriders (known as "whips" ) who keep the stragglers in formation.
In addition to the farm (and sometimes hosting the hunt breakfast afterwards) my aunt plays an important role in the social order of the Mayberry Hunt, because a den of red foxes also call Pipe Creek home. They're far enough away from her chicken coop to permit peaceful coexistance, and their participation is key.
Not all hunts can field this player. In places where foxes are scarce, a fake scent is dragged to direct the hounds. Not exactly GPS, but it keeps the procession on course, although lacking a certain spontanaity. This method is also used to train rookie hounds and horses (a practice called "cubbing.") You've heard "red herring" used to describe a false lead or irrelevant piece of information. It originates from the smoked fish used to train hounds not to follow the wrong scent.
Anyway, the fun begins when a real fox -- or a tag team of foxes -- decides to get in the game. The folks in the undisclosed location have been at this for generations and know just what to do. (There must be a vulpine version of cubbing, because these guys are very creative.)
One Sunday morning I was visiting the farm and heard a loud commotion. Far in the distance, hounds were running in circles. The riders waited patiently for them to figure out where to go. Every hound had a different opinion and they took off in every direction (one was headed to Gettysburg) before being herded back by the whips.
Looking out the other window, I beheld a curious sight. Sitting on his haunches at the top of another hill, observing the action with amusement, was the star of the show. It wasn't until the hounds finally figured his route and started his way that he scampered off.
My uncle explained that the fox was waiting for them to catch up because he wasn't ready to call it a day. After getting his cardio workout, the fox (and possibly an accomplice) hops into the nearby stream. The pack loses the scent, the chase ends, and everyone goes home to their den, barn, kennel, or flatscreen.
When hunters see the fox, it's called a "view." and riders tip their hats. (I don't know if it's a salute or a signal, but it's part of the ritual.)
I'm not sure what it's called when the fox leisurely surveys his pursuers, but the Taneytown trickser seemed to savor the moment. I can just envision Mr. Fox relating the hilarity of those hounds chasing their tails (in a George Clooney voice, of course) to his kits as he relaxes in his den under the tree.
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