Neigh, I am a liar! Most people wouldn't know of it, and I edited part of my post to improve comprehension by the public. You see, I own no .44 magnums. And now, the rest of the story...
In the 1980's I bought a stainless Dan Wesson .445 Supermag with a 10-inch barrel. After mounting a Bushnell scope on the rib, it proved too unwieldy, so I had my smith re-mount the scope on the frame. This negated the advantage of having interchangable barrels. Time passed, and Dan Wesson came and went with the foibles of ownership and undercapitolization. At Mountain Home AFB, I finally had enough dough to purchase another gun, and Dan Wesson was once more, up and running. I chose again, the .445 Supermag, but with a 6-inch compensated barrel, stainless of course. It's kind of fun using .44 magnums as my practise midrange load. (Both calibers are actually .429, but the Supermag is a quarter-inch longer). The grip frame extends as a post into the Hogue grips and does a marvelous job of taming recoil.
I lived well off base, in the desert. Response time for the fire department and sheriff was 45-minutes. The 6-inch Dan became my carry piece and I got a CCW. I didn't actually conceal it, though. I stand 5-foot 6-inches and the Uncle Mike's shoulder holster attached to my belt, hanging down another inch. Even under a coat, it looked like I was carrying the Chicago phone directory under my arm. Sometimes I used an Uncle Mike's belt holster in cross-draw on a duty belt.
An iterim commander of the Mental Health Flight took issue with my fondness for horses, hunting, camping, and shooting. And I didn't even own a TV! She was the stereotype of the social worker, radical feminist, knee-jerk liberal, verbally aggressive, intolerant, and just plain mean spirited. One morning during case conference review, she sarcastically challenged me in front of the whole team, stating, "Why do you think you need to have a gun?" Without expression, I responded flatly and quietly - "We have a mountain lion that comes though about every 6-weeks. This spring it killed two 450-pound calves. My pony weighs 400 pounds and we go out after work when I get home, after sunset. I have to be armed". She looked stunned, and then puzzled, mumbled something about "I guess that's okay", and walked away.
And now you know, the rest of the story.
Epilogue: The interim commander kept making an ass of herself and was eventually stripped of her clinical priveledges and put to work in a warehouse at Osan Korea. She tried to resign her commission so she could go home and start over, but the Air Force said, "Hey, you're doing great work in the warehouse. Tell you what - we'll keep you in the warehouse through your Korean rotation, and then you can resign your commission".