The only occasion in my life thus far to actually subject a rifle to deliberate knocks was back in the early 1980s. I'd just finished my 4-year degree and was in job hunting limbo for several years, two of which I spent with my dad trying to grow almonds on about 11 acres belonging to a family friend.
There was a PVC pipe bungied in my usual Case tractor that served as a scabbard for my very first rifle, a Marlin-Glenfield M25 bolt action .22 that the old man got me for my 16th birthday at KMart for $30.
The orchard hadn't been harvested the previous year, and the ground squirrel population had skyrocketed with all that free food. Actually, we ended up spending more time cutting up fallen trees for firewood than tending productive trees, but we still tried to grow as many almonds as possible.
I typically made ace on every varminting trip, and often bagged a couple more while disking between the trees -- hence the practice of keeping the rifle in the tractor. I learned to hate those danged squirrels! There was a cemetary just south of the orchard, so I mostly used CB Longs to keep the noise down and refrained from shooting during graveside services.
The rifle's stock had been badly beaten and the muzzle nicked, so some years later I shortened and recrowned the barrel, and had a new front sight and a second stock lug installed so I could replace the hardwood stock with a synthetic model intended for Marlin's tubular mag bolt action. I had to cut a new magwell for the box magazine, but otherwise the stock was a drop-in. I also replaced my old Weaver scope with a newer Barska rimfire scope in a very solid unitized airgun mount. I treasure the rifle, both in remembrance of my old man and of a very happy birthday.