More news to ponder on from the mini farm:
Saturday, while I was checking my one and only surviving zucchini plant, the mole on my shoulder felt Vermithrax Pejorative (BBB hen) was giving it a look of supreme imperious disgust (which only turkeys can properly give, but which, however, they cannot help but give) and thusly also felt the need to imply it knew where and with whom she will spend Christmas. Her honor and good intentions called into question, she furiously pecked it.
That night, my darling daughter thought she saw a "bug" on my shoulder, and, after much questioning and various medical ministrations by my darling husband, we have discovered that the question of this "bug" has two possible answers:
1) The mole, having been injured by Vermithrax, has now donned a large black and purple Puffalump costume in the hopes that she doesn't recognize it the next time she passes my crouched form.
2) The mole had already gone rogue melanoma, and Vermithrax was just letting me know what a dangerous blight it was on my person (and that it had grievously insulted her honor and good intentions).
After checking the state of this "mole" (if it is still a mole and neither Puffalump nor melanoma), I have discovered a somewhat lessened state of fluff in the costume, though it is still quite dark, large and quite different of appearance than it was a week ago. Only time (and, if time should prove uncooperative, a biopsy) will tell.