You're out in the garden after a heavy rain, and there they are. Dozens of them. They are stretched out across the damp pavement, leaves, and flowerpots like slow-motion ribbons of grey and brown. You might wonder, as you're trying not to step on one, what is a group of slugs called? Honestly, it’s one of those weird bits of trivia that sounds like it was made up by a Victorian poet who had a bit too much sherry.
A group of slugs is officially called a cornucopia.
Yeah, you heard that right. A cornucopia. Usually, we associate that word with a wicker horn overflowing with Thanksgiving harvest—pumpkins, grapes, and maybe some decorative corn. But in the world of gastropods, it refers to a mass of slimy, shell-less mollusks. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? The word "cornucopia" literally means "horn of plenty" from the Latin cornu copiae. While a gardener might agree there’s "plenty" of them, they’re usually not the kind of abundance anyone is celebrating.
Why a Cornucopia? The History Behind the Name
Collective nouns for animals are weird. Most of them come from the "Book of Saint Albans," printed way back in 1486. That book gave us a "murder" of crows and an "exaltation" of larks. It was basically a handbook for gentlemen to sound smart while hunting. But the "cornucopia of slugs" is a bit more modern and, frankly, a bit more descriptive of how they huddle together.
Slugs aren’t exactly social butterflies. They don't have "friends." However, they do congregate. When you see a cornucopia, it’s usually because of three things: moisture, food, or sex.
Slugs are basically walking (crawling?) bags of water. They lose moisture through their skin constantly. If the sun comes out, they’re in trouble. So, they huddle. By piling on top of each other, they reduce the surface area of their bodies exposed to the air. It’s a survival tactic. They’re sharing slime to stay alive. It’s gross, sure, but it’s also pretty efficient.
The Slime Factor
If you’ve ever touched one, you know the slime is no joke. That mucus is a marvel of biological engineering. It’s a liquid when the slug moves and a solid when it needs to stick to a wall. Scientists have actually studied slug mucus to develop medical adhesives for surgery. When they are in a cornucopia, all that collective slime creates a micro-environment that stays humid even if the rest of the garden is drying out.
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Other Names for a Group of Slugs
Is "cornucopia" the only name? Not really. Language is fluid, and unless you’re writing a scientific paper, you’ve got some leeway.
Some people prefer to use the term "slither" of slugs. It’s evocative. It captures the movement. Others go with a "slime" of slugs. If you’re talking to a malacologist (a scientist who specifically studies mollusks), they might just call it a "population" or a "cluster." Boring, right?
But "cornucopia" remains the gold standard for trivia buffs. It has that specific kind of linguistic flair that makes people stop and say, "Wait, really?"
Do They Actually Hang Out?
It's tempting to think of a group of slugs as a little community. It’s not. They don't have a hive mind like bees or a social hierarchy like wolves. They’re solitary creatures that just happen to end up in the same place. If you find a cornucopia under a rotted log, it’s because that log is the best real estate in the yard. It’s like a crowded bus—everyone is there because they need to get somewhere (or stay damp), not because they want to hang out with the person next to them.
There is one big exception: mating.
Slugs are hermaphrodites. Every slug has both male and female reproductive organs. When a cornucopia forms for mating purposes, it gets weird. Take the Great Grey Slug (Limax maximus), also known as the Leopard Slug. They don't just meet on the ground. They climb up a tree or a wall, dangle from a thick strand of mucus, and intertwine their bodies in the air. It’s a spectacle. If you see a group of Leopard Slugs doing this, "cornucopia" feels like an understatement.
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Identifying the Members of Your Cornucopia
Not all slugs are created equal. If you're looking at a group in North America or Europe, you’re likely seeing a few usual suspects.
The Spanish Slug (Arion vulgaris) is the one gardeners hate the most. They’re big, reddish-brown, and they eat everything. They are also incredibly prolific. When you see a massive cornucopia of these, your hostas are basically doomed.
Then there’s the Banana Slug (Ariolimax). These are the icons of the Pacific Northwest. They can be bright yellow and grow up to ten inches long. A cornucopia of Banana Slugs is actually a sign of a very healthy forest ecosystem. They are the clean-up crew, eating detritus and recycling nutrients back into the soil.
Why You Should (Maybe) Leave Them Alone
It’s easy to want to reach for the salt. Don't.
I mean, if they are devouring your prize-winning tomatoes, I get it. But slugs play a massive role in the food chain. Birds, toads, hedgehogs, and ground beetles all rely on them for dinner. When you see a cornucopia, you’re looking at a buffet for the local wildlife. Plus, the salt thing is a pretty gruesome way to go. It dehydrates them instantly through osmosis.
If you have to manage them, try beer traps or copper tape. Copper gives them a tiny electric shock that makes them turn around without killing them. It’s more of a "no trespassing" sign than a death sentence.
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Surprising Facts About the Cornucopia
- Intelligence: They aren't as "dumb" as they look. Slugs can learn to associate smells with food and even remember where a good hiding spot is.
- Teeth: A slug has thousands of tiny teeth on a tongue-like organ called a radula. They don't chew; they rasp.
- Speed: The average slug moves at a top speed of about 0.007 miles per hour. That cornucopia isn't going anywhere fast.
- Lifespan: Most garden slugs live for about a year, but some species can make it to six years if they stay hidden and hydrated.
Dealing With a Slime Overload
If you find yourself with a cornucopia of slugs on your doorstep every morning, it’s a sign your yard is holding too much moisture near the house.
Check your gutters. See if there’s a leak. Or maybe you have too much mulch piled up against the foundation. Slugs love mulch. It’s like a five-star hotel for them. Thinning out the damp areas will naturally encourage them to relocate to the woods or the back of the garden where they belong.
At the end of the day, knowing what is a group of slugs called might not save your lettuce, but it sure makes for a good story. It’s a reminder that even the most overlooked, "gross" parts of nature have names that are surprisingly beautiful.
To manage a "cornucopia" in your own garden without resorting to harsh chemicals, your best bet is to encourage natural predators. Build a small rock pile or a "toad abode" in a shady corner. Once a few toads move in, they will handle the slug population for you, and you won't have to worry about stepping on a slither of slime in the dark. Focus on creating a balanced ecosystem rather than a sterilized one.
If you’re seeing large numbers, try "hand-picking" them at dusk—which is exactly what it sounds like—and moving them to a compost pile where their appetite for decaying matter actually becomes a benefit rather than a nuisance.