You can tell a person by their morning routine. Coffee and a cigarette, listening to RNZ and reggae, then heading out to skate with an anthem of a song that keeps the session lit. The catchy tune he’s got going on in his head is inspiring. 

I met Orson in the Wellington scene around 2000. We were always hanging out and hitting spots together.

He’s an all-terrain beast — from his 90s street skills of flipping tricks and grinding handrails in Whanganui to the vert-pool-bowl guy he is today, in his early 40s.

Fakie crooked grind, Waitangi Bowl, Pōneke.

On a skate mission to Napier for my uncle Freddog’s 50th, Orson wore his knee-high-pool-tile-socks and vest jacket with more patches than a lifer. Amongst all the gangsters, we had the best night. I was singing karaoke, and he was doing a drunken shimmy shimmy dance, and everyone was line dancing in formation and copying him. It was so good.

His determination to get a trick used to (still does) end in some gnarly slams. During the X-Air Competition in Hamilton in 2002, he had to qualify in a wildcard event to enter the comp, but he was injured so badly that he couldn’t even walk. He was limping to skate, but he still ended up qualifying. The street course had a real baby grand piano on it — he kickflip nose-bonked it! He did foot plants and everything. His power and skill on a board still stand out for me today.

I always knew he was an artist, as most skaters are. He always made his own brands and products, from artwork or clothing to spray painting and little skate zines. Once, he had skate hardware (bolts) inside little matchboxes with the five-cent tuatara artwork on it.

Now he’s Dog Food — I mean his alias. He’s constantly reinventing. I’m amazed to see what’s next. Till next time. Meatboot, Greybeard out. | NOLAN

Follow Orson Reynolds on Instagram @dogfoodswastedpaper

First published in Manual Magazine, issue 72.