One I threw at a bull in some long-thorned buffalo berry bushes. He was holed up and I was trying to spook him out, one day when I didn't have my dog with me. That was prior to a trip to the hospital for what felt like a broken hand when the knot on the end of my rope whirled around and hit the back, above my wrist. I went back the next day but no use. There seems to be some great ground god that gobbles up what ever falls and you never see the thing again. He got my cowboy hat that time. I really liked that hat.
The next one blew off when I was chasing a bull and having to stay focused, I thought: "I'll just come back for it after the bull is loaded in the trailer." Famous last words, at least for a cowboy's wife. That ground god must have got it too, I guess. (Previously there had been the almost new 60 foot ranch rope with a double tied hondu that I looked for for three hours one very cold day on horseback, a baseball cap from my reining days, various fencing tools, gloves, a second rope that untied itself from the back of my saddle, and the list goes on.)
The third one the dog just plain chewed to bits. I'm still scratching my head as to how it got off the hat rack in the back hall made out of old antlers (two mule deer and a white tail set).
But this spring my cowboy bought me a new one. It's a little Tom Mix, "Quigly Down Under," but hey, when you're as old as I am, I figure Retro kind of suits me. And besides, sometimes it's the only shade there is on those hot, hot summer days.