Renn Roscher scales the fence and climbs into the first pen. "Over here," he commands the pigs as he tries to sweep out the muck. The pigs ignore him. They crowd around, chewing on his boot-covered toes, leaving him no choice but to poke his broom into their hides and push them away. Two boys, one to herd and one to sweep, usually work with the biggest, most aggressive pigs, but tonight he's alone.

His slight frame pressed hither and yon by a ton of swaying, squealing pork, Renn remains calm. The pen isn't the cleanest when he's done, but it's a good job and he'll leave it at that.

Renn, 11, of Wards Chapel in Baltimore County, likes herding pigs. He thinks it's fun. That is one reason he decided to raise a hog this summer. Another is that his "best friends outside of school" are doing it, and Renn, a sixth-grader, figured it would be a good way to get in more time with them.

Once a week since May, Renn and his pals, Michael Meadows and Bryan Jones, have mucked out the three pens on George and Bud Strohmer's farm in Granite where Baltimore County 4-H members raise their pigs. The three friends will show their animals today at the Maryland State Fairgrounds in Timonium. Come Saturday, the pigs -- Larry, Curly, and Moe -- go to market.

It was Renn's idea to name the pigs for the Three Stooges. His is Curly, since her tail curls around twice, and when they met, she weighed almost as much as Renn.

Renn is 89 pounds and 4-feet-11, if he remembers correctly from a recent checkup. He has a crew cut, blue eyes, white teeth, dimples and perfect skin. Inside is part tender, part tough, a man in formation.

Like the kids in the new subdivisions sprouting around him, Renn watches TV, plays computer games and goes to movies.

Confidently and earnestly he reaches out to try his hand at other things, too. He's got baseball trophies from the Wards Chapel recreation league on his dresser, karate belts displayed in a case on the wall. Lego sculptures take up a big chunk of the floor and shelves; among the books next to his bed is "Fishing for Dummies," a gift from his father. Every time they go fishing, they return empty-handed.

He got involved in 4-H the way most do -- because his sisters did it, his friends did it and his mom did it. About 5,500 kids are raising animals in Maryland this summer, and 4-H has become so popular among suburban kids who lease space from farmers that some clubs are turning them away.

A blue ribbon event

Last year at the 4-H fair, Renn took a blue ribbon for bicycle safety. He identified and explained dozens of bicycle parts laid out for him on a table and demonstrated his riding skills; he prepared by taking classes from a senior 4-H member.

Positioning a pig for a blue ribbon is different; for Renn, it's a lot like positioning oneself for life: careful choices, hard work, lots of shoveling manure and no guarantee of success.

There's no instant gratification, either, though Renn has noticed his pig gets bigger each week. Affection? Well, pigs are not like cows that stare at you with big brown eyes. Pigs are aloof. The only sign that Renn's pig recognizes him is the nip she takes out of his boot.

What does Renn expect from this? Fun and friendship; he doesn't much care about money.

The first summer in the swine program is the hardest. Renn won't make a profit, he figures, not after he subtracts the supplies he needs to show the animal at the fair: a broom to keep the pen clean, bins for water, a uniform -- khaki pants, black tie -- knee-high rubber boots and a pig brush he'll carry in a back pocket. And, oh, the hog whip. He'll need that for showmanship. But if he keeps everything in good shape, he won't have to buy it again next year.

A certain odor

The downside is the smell. Renn washes off his boots at the farm. His work clothes -- old royal-blue sweat pants and white T-shirt -- go into a dark plastic garbage bag that he ties shut before he drops it in the car trunk and then, at home, drops in the mudroom next to the washing machine. The work clothes are washed separately. Even with these precautions, his father will sit down to relax after dinner and suddenly get a whiff.

Renn says it's not as bad as he expected, given the advance billing.

His image of a pig has changed, too.

"It has hair, for one thing, very stiff hair that bristles. And pigs are loud. You can tell when they are scared or angry. They bite in play. But they chew when they are angry or scared. ... And another thing, pigs are faster than you think. Babies are skittish. Even big ones don't like to be tagged or weighed."

The first step in showing a pig is selecting one to raise.

"Choose a long one with a fat ham [the hip-like side next to the butt]," his friends advised. Not too big, not too small.

The big ones can get you a lot of money, Renn heard, but they can grow too big for the fair. Smaller pigs are easier to handle, but they may not gain weight fast enough to be shown.

The day in May the kids selected pigs was Renn's birthday, and he arrived late. As a result, he got one of the smallest pigs, an 80-pound Hampshire. That put Renn's pig in the touch-and-go category; a pig gains about two pounds a day, and must weigh 180 to 240 pounds to be shown. Last year, Michael didn't know if his pig would make it until the last day. Despite Curly's weight, she seemed to be everything Renn hoped for in a pig. He learned about her when he climbed into the pen to muck it. "Mine is the bravest in the pen," he said.

"The other ones, if I walk near with a scraper, get skittish. I have to give her [Curly] a little slap on the rear." Not hard, he added, but enough so she knows who's boss. "You've got to be tough to get their attention," he said.

"I'm a beginner. I don't want a pig that's hard to work with. I want one close to the middle. I don't want one that is really scared, one that runs away or won't listen."

Learning by doing

Control of the pig is one factor judges consider come ribbon-time. The poise of the child when the pig runs away is another.

Pigs are herded with a whip, and Renn learned from his friends how to use it -- on the side of the pig's cheek or his butt.

Last Thursday night, he got an unexpected chance to practice herding when Liberty 4-H Club leader Carolyn Sellman asked for volunteers to move pigs onto scales for their official weighing. "They were pretty nervous," Renn said of the pigs. Curly, though, "she walked right on," he said. She weighed in at exactly 180 pounds. "She's made it!" he said, delighted.

The weighing over, the friends staved off a second potential crisis: the possibility that they would be in separate pens at the fair. For a brief time, 4-H leaders believed one of the boys' pigs was in a different pen. Pigs are territorial, and a newcomer would be attacked. When Bryan arrived to identify his pig, everybody sighed in relief.

The next night, the last chance to work with the pigs before tomorrow's swine show, a half-dozen children practiced leading the animals around a makeshift show ring next to the pens. Parents served as judges.

Moving together

Renn tapped Curly's cheek gently to get her going. He stayed on the outside of his pig, keeping Curly between himself and the judge, who purposely edged between boy and pig to confuse them. Renn moved his pig back into place on cue. He was ready with a brush, too, when the judge grabbed a handful of dirt and dropped it on Curly.

When the pig turned, Renn turned, too. Among the unexpected forces he contended with was a black Labrador retriever who tossed the pig a stick through the gate, engaging Curly in play, and feed that drifted into the ring from an adjoining pen. Curly loved it.

"Remember, you can't control what the pig does, only what you do," Sellman, the club leader, called to the kids.

The test for Renn came when he tried to usher Curly back to her pen. She moved admirably until the last few yards, when she realized her freedom was at stake.

She turned around and ran back to the showman's ring; when Sellman asked more experienced kids to help herd Curly and three or four other recalcitrant pigs, Renn, too, stood firm. "I want to work with mine a little longer," he replied.

Pigheaded

Around and around the ring Curly went, until suddenly the 180-pound pig seemed to turn into a bull, and the boy into a bullfighter. She charged, he danced from side to side until finally pig and boy seemed to merge, Renn was nearly toppled by Curly.

He caught himself before he fell, and held onto the side of the ring. He kept moving, but now his smile was gone and his jaw was taut.

"Go for it," his mom, Nancy, coached from the sidelines. "This will prepare you for growing up and having kids -- they never listen to you."

His friend Michael, who was masterfully eyeing the judges even as his own pig stopped to eat and play, stepped in to help. Only when three men arrived with 3-by-5-foot boards did the errant pigs return to their pens.

"The only reason a pig goes in is if it wants to go in," said one.

Later Renn would say he was surprised by his pig, and a little frustrated, and happy for the practice.

Right then, though, he ran over for watermelon the Strohmers brought down to the kids.

He let off steam by spitting watermelon seeds at his friends -- and they at him -- hollering and laughing, just the three of them, in the cool of their own shelter, standing in a circle, out in the field away from the crowd, hurling rinds to the pigs and sticks to the dogs.

In a few days they would decorate the pens where they will stay -- with their pigs -- during the fair. Renn even bought a water sprayer for Curly. He thinks he will miss her. "I don't want to eat a lot of my pig," he says.

The way the ribbons are awarded leads some people to conclude that the 4-H club is more interested in raising blue-ribbon kids than blue-ribbon animals. First, animals and projects are sorted into gold, silver, bronze categories. From these groups, first, second and third place are selected. The kids meet the judges face to face, and listen to suggestions on how they could improve their projects. Next year, Renn'll know more, not only from his friends but also from his experience.

Not just with Curly, either. Renn is as excited about showing marigolds he's growing in the front yard as he is about Curly.

Plus, he's showing an electric lamp he fashioned from a bell jar filled with pennies, and a paper-plate volcano, its smoke to be concocted from vinegar (dyed red) and baking soda, and at the last minute, he'll bake something -- either brownies or chocolate-chip cookies.

"Winning isn't everything," he says, "it's just fun to enter."