I have a heart of iron and a handle of wood, I dig through the earth as a sturdy tool should. I turn up the soil, though I plant nothing green, And bury what’s hidden beneath what is seen. What am I?

Don't air me out when I'm dirty!

I survey messages over the sea I contain spirits or water or pee I may be a weapon like a grenade Hold me and I hold your gatorade

I sit upon your cheek or nose, Where sunny weather often goes. Not a speck of dust or dirt, I never cause you pain or hurt. A tiny dot upon your skin, Count us all and you won't win.

Cutting through the air, flight just right, bound for the center of a bovine's sight.